Panem's Angel
by Frigonfic
Summary: They broke her to pieces then rebuilt her the way they wanted her to be. She struggles to hold on to who she was while they threaten her to be something she's not. Continuation of 'The Girl Who Set the Spark.'
1. Selling Your Soul

Hello there, everybody!

Thanks for sticking around this far, and here is the very first chapter to the second sub-story!

**Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games.**

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****Finnick's POV

The Capitol is angry.

They act as if they're happy to have a District 5 winner, but I can tell they are not.

She was supposed to die. It was obvious. The mutation ram, the harsh rain, the treacherous path, the avalanche, all the attempts of getting her to fall off the mountain.

But she won.

She's smiling, smiling all the time in front of the cameras. She's happy, glad that she won.

The Capitol is not.

She found a way to kill off all the other tributes and completely deform the whole arena while she was at it.

I was on the hovercraft that was sent to pick her up from the arena. All of the mentors were.

When we arrived, the whole arena was no longer a blinding white.

Instead, the whole arena was burnt to a crisp. For miles on end, the ground was a black and brown mess, all of the trees shrivelled into crisps. The mountain was half crumbled, smoke erupting from it like an erupted volcano.

There was smoke, thick in the air, smothering everything.

It looked like a wasteland. I imagined this was quite how District 13 looked like after the Capitol demolished it.

We were in the hovercraft, trying to look past the smoke to find the victor.

We finally found her, an hour later, sprawled on the debris and rocks of the crumbled mountain. She stood out in the brown and black of the barren world.

We all thought she was dead, lying there, unmoving. She was sprawled on her side, her white-blonde hair fanning out everywhere, pale arms and legs marred with scars and wounds. Her eyes were half-closed and empty, disturbingly unfocused.

They spent minutes patching her up, but it took her hours to finally wake up again.

When she finally _did _wake up, she was quiet and lethargic. She barely spoke and kept on staring at the walls.

Vinster told us that she was quite often like that, at least when she was with him before the Games started.

But then all of us mentors had to leave, except Vinster, and I haven't seen her in person again.

Now, on the cameras, she's bubbly and happy, enthusiastic and talkative – the exact opposite of how Vinster described her.

I thought everything was okay. A new victor crowned – now on to next year's Games.

But I was wrong.

**.**

I was just minding my business one day when I stumbled upon her.

Okay, we all know that's a lie.

I was escaping one of my 'satisfied customers' and quickly boarding the train that would take me back to Four when I saw her in the train's back corner.

She was curled up in the corner, her head in her knees. I could see her shoulders shaking, though she emitted no sound.

I wanted to walk on, ignore her, and get on with my day, but I couldn't just leave her stranded there.

I sighed and sat down next to her.

"Are you okay?" I asked her gently.

She only continues crying softly.

I reach out and touch her shoulder, and she quickly jerks away. She makes a squeak of panic.

I look at her for a bit, suddenly piecing everything together.

She looks up at me, eyes red and tears flowing.

"They didn't…" I trail off, horrified. "Did they?"

She nods shakily and cries harder.

"Come on," I say, gently pulling at her wrists, "let's go to my compartment."

Immediately, I realize my mistake too late.

She shrieks and claws at my hands around her wrist. I surrender to her sharp nails and drop her hands.

She sobs silently, her hands to her eyes.

I pry her hands away and stare at her eyes, even though she tries to avoid eye contact.

"I won't do anything, I promise." I say softly. "They did the same to me."

She stares at me, tears still streaming down her face. Then slowly stands up and waits, ready to follow me.

I walk slowly, making sure she was behind me. She walks slowly, her arms crossed across her chest self-consciously. Her eyes are red, her makeup running down with her tears. Her hair is a bird's nest, tangled like she run her hands through them multiple times.

I lead her to my compartment and point her to the bathroom. She hurries in quickly and I soon hear the shower starting.

I scramble around for some clothes in the drawers and finally rummage up my largest shirt and a pair of baggy shorts.

She would be needing clothes. She was only wearing what looked like a men's collar shirt, buttoned up haphazardly and sleeves rolled up.

The shower stops.

I leave the clothes in front of the door and knock, telling her that I left clothes in front of the door.

She seems to hesitate for a few minutes, then tentatively opens the door a crack, sticks a pale arm out, grabs the clothes, and yanks them in.

I chuckle bitterly and wait for her to emerge.

**.**

Anxol's POV

My first kiss.

And it was anything but magical.

I try not to cry as I think of it again.

I can remember his cold hands on my hips, his lips crushing painfully on mine, his –

_Stop._

I shudder and force myself to forget that memory.

I slip on the clothes Finnick Odair left me – extremely oversized and smells a lot like salt.

I hesitate before opening the door. I knew that Finnick was the same as me – it would explain a lot of things – but what if he was just the same as those disgusting Captiol people?

What if he actually _enjoyed _it?

I shudder again.

But his voice sounded sincere, sounding empathetic. He sounded like he understood.

I gather up what courage I had left and opened the door.

He didn't turn around as I entered. He was sitting, staring out the window of the train.

"Clothes fit you alright?" He asks, still staring out the window.

"Yes." I answer, even though they are anything but. "Thank you."

He turns around slowly. I feel exposed as his eyes are on me, just like how _he _was staring at me just hours ago.

"Are you okay?" He asks gently.

"I've been better." I answer. I find, to my dismay that my voice is shaking.

He sees my shaking and says, "I'm not like them."

He looks hurt almost, that I could possibly see him like that. I feel guilty for thinking so, even if it was just for a second.

I sit down tentatively on a chair next to a desk.

"When did you start?" Finnick asks, staring at me with those piercing green eyes.

"Yesterday. I turned sixteen two days ago." I shift my eyes away from his gaze.

"I remember my first. She was terrible." Finnick shudders, looking at me with sympathy. "But you don't want to hear it."

I smile to myself.

It's quiet for a moment. An awkward, but at the same time, oddly comfortable silence.

"Is it what it's like all year?" I ask timidly, staring at my fingers. "Captiol at night, home during day?"  
"That's right. You board the train in the middle of the night and board it again at morning." Finnick smiles grimly. "It's not all year long. You'll have to mentor the Games, of course, but that's hardly any better."

I sigh sadly to myself. My future was not looking bright.

"And of course – " Finnick nods to the door, " – this is the cargo train. There's only one compartment. I hope you don't mind sharing."

I bite my lip. I _did _mind, but it's not Finnick's fault.

Finnick catches my look.

"I can sleep on the couch, if you want." He offers kindly.

I shake my head. "We'll rotate."  
He nods. We'll work out a schedule later.

"You might want to consider bringing clothes, too." Finnick gestures to the closet. "They really come in handy."

This time, it's me who nods.

"I would say it's not too bad," Finnick chuckles bitterly, "but it is."

I nod again, tears brimming in my eyes.

I feel like I have betrayed myself.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Well, I know in a lot of fanfiction stories (it might have been even mentioned in the books, I'm not too sure) Finnick stays at the Capitol for half of the year and then returns to his home district for the other half. Or something like that; where he stays at the Capitol for a certain period of time before returning.

WELL, I SAY BULLOCKS.

Not really. Well, I don't hate the idea of that, it's just that since this is a Finnick/OC story, and since the other character doesn't originate from District 4, it just isn't going to work out if Finnick follows that plan. So obviously, I changed it.

I hope you guys don't mind too much; it was for the sake of the story.

And yeah, don't worry guys. Things will be kept PG. Or, at least, rated T.

What did you guys think of this chapter? (I'm dying to know!)

Any questions? Comments? Feedback? Feel free to leave it as a review!

Thanks again for reading!


	2. Suspicion

Hello once again!

Well, not to disrupt you. Onto the story!

**Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns everything.**

* * *

The train stops at District 5 first. I give an awkward wave good-bye to Finnick and step off the train. He gives me a wave and a lopsided grin back, as if we've been friends for our whole lives.

I hurry to my new home in Victor's Village, and I am pleased to find Donnie sound asleep.

Every day, for who knows how long, I am to leave my home, leave Donnie at ten' o'clock at night. I have to make sure she's asleep by then. I board the cargo train to the Capitol. I arrive at the Capitol, and then, well…

Then, I go back on the cargo train at seven in the morning, and I'm back at home again. Repeat.

The cargo train is the train that goes to each District twice every day to acquire materials for the Capitol. Well, there are some Districts that are skipped, so it doesn't take the train too long to make a round trip.

The train runs on a very strict timetable, so I always have to be on time, even if it might mean lying to Donnie.

Of course Donnie doesn't know. I can't tell my five year old sister – almost to be six, but that doesn't make a difference – that I have to go to the Capitol every night for a 'business'. It's a business I'm not proud of and I'd much rather not explain it to Donnie.

It's deception. I hate deceiving people, hate lying. I especially hate lying to Donnie – she doesn't deserve it. But I'm doing this for Donnie. I'm doing this for her. And one day, she'll understand.

_This is for Donnie._

I tell myself that multiple times, tell myself that it's a small price to pay.

It's the least I can do. It's a sacrifice, but it'll be worth it. Of course it's worth it.

I knew what I was getting into when I accepted the offer – no, the _threat. _I knew what I would be doing if I declined.

I couldn't say no. I couldn't take any chances. Not with Donnie. She's the only thing I have left.

I make myself busy around the house. It's quite plain – white walls and simple furniture – but it's still nice. Donnie and I never really needed a big house – our apartment with Jinlea was just fine for the two of us – but I guess it's nice to have a big house.

I will admit, I miss sharing a bed with Donnie. I miss having all the rooms so close by, hardly a walk. I miss doing something somewhat important during the day – grocery shopping, school, a_nything _– instead of feeling like I'm sitting around, wasting my life.

Donnie's sudden appearance jolts me out of my thoughts.

"Morning, Annie." She yawns widely.

"Morning, Donnie." I smile at her. It's a real smile, not like those fake, plastered beams I give at the Capitol.

Hearing Donnie say 'Annie' is a nice change from what I've heard these past few weeks.

The people at the Capitol call me 'Angel'. It's partially because they can't pronounce Anxol, but I think it's mainly because I look the part. And to them, I guess I act the part, too. It was inspired by my interview with Caesar – which feels like ages ago. It's a bit strange to be called an angel, and it's nice – extremely weird and slightly creepy – but still nice.

Enkol used to call me Axle. I miss that. I would call him Wheel. It's those small things I miss about him – the simple grins, ruffling my hair. Things that only a big brother can do.

I help Donnie into her clothes and make her breakfast – toast and juice – and then she's on her way to school.

I hope the kids aren't treating her any differently.

"Bye-bye, sissy!" Donnie grins as she walks to school, trotting with her little backpack. "See you later!"

"Bye, Donnie!" I wave back, smile, and blow kisses like a worried mother.

I wave until she's just a speck in the distance.

It was hard explaining to her why I had to leave for so long, and why we all of a sudden had such a big house with so much food. I think my excuse had something to do with helping out Panem and getting rewarded.

I'm despicable. I hated myself for lying to Donnie – and even more so for such a terrible lie – the exact opposite of what I've actually done.

I'll tell Donnie the truth one day. I will. I swear.

I called her 'Donnie', short for Donna, which was short for Belladonna. Enkol called her Bella. I remember we wanted to split her name, for some odd reason. I never called Donnie 'Bella'. I couldn't. I can't.

I have no idea where Enkol and I's first names come from – one mystery I've never solved. It sounds too different for Panem. I never asked my parents how they came up with the names.

I still remember my parents. Enkol used to tell me I looked a lot like Mom. In many ways, I guess it was true. I had my mom's white-blonde hair, pale grey eyes, and pouty lips. Which means Enkol had them, too. But we both had our dad's tall, lanky frame and strong jaw.

Donnie had my dad's blonde-brown hair, and light blue eyes. But she had my mom's heart-shaped face and snub nose – something I've always liked.

I miss my parents.

They seem ethereal now – like a figment of a dream. Everything is blurry and hazy when I think of them, the memories fuzzy.

What I do remember, though, is their deaths. A stormy night – an experiment gone wrong – the electrical centre – a bright light – the terrible silence – a goodbye.

I remember crying. I remember leaning on Enkol for so many days and curling up next to him for so many nights.

Donnie was only one.

I remember their bodies when we found them. Charred, burnt past recognition. My mother's hair was burnt black, the opposite of what it was supposed to be. My father's skin blackened and sizzling instead of the cold, pale skin he used to have.

They were holding hands.

The District mourned for days – my parents were not the only ones who died. A hundred or so citizens were killed – friends, family, workers. It was a bleak time.

There were rumours – spoken in hushed voices at the market, away from the Peacekeepers. It was strange – no, _impossible _– that the electrical centre practically blew up that night. It was so unlikely – how is it that all the windows were opened on a rainy night, allowing rainwater to seep to the floors – while it just so happened an electrical current escaped and touched the water – electrocuting everything in contact with the water, which was everything touching the floor?

All electrical boxes are sealed. The windows are locked. We knew the risks of experimenting with electricity, transferring it, creating it – and we took all the precautions.

So why did the people die?

We all know what happens when electricity comes in contact with water – nothing good. If you happen to touch the water, you get electrocuted – simple as that.

Hushed secrets, suspicious minds. I heard a few rumours that it was _planned. _

A few Capitol workers inspected our District that day.

Is it all a coincidence? Is it all just a misunderstanding?

Is it just chance that the day my parents died of an electric shock to the heart, the Capitol were there only a few hours earlier?

Is it just chance that my twin brother had been picked in the Hunger Games, _a game created by the Capitol_, three years later and died to an electric shock to the heart when he stepped in a puddle and all of the sudden, a lightning bolt hit him?

Who had inspected the electrical centre only hours before the disaster? Who had created the lightning bolt in the arena?

_The Capitol._

Is it all just a coincidence that I was Reaped a year later, and that it was raining that last day in the arena? I was on the top of the mountain, soaking wet. Would lightening have followed a few minutes later? If it did, it would've of definitely hit me. I was on high ground. I was drenched. I was a prime target.

I would've died.

But I didn't.

I don't know what to think any more.

**.**

That night, I coax Donnie to sleep, and make sure she's snoring before I leave the house.

I bring a huge bag, containing all the clothes I think I will need.

I hop onto the train and see Finnick already in the compartment.

He eyes the clothes in my bag and smiles at me. I quickly stuff all of my clothes in the closet and drawers, careful to equally divide both into two sides.

After I put all the clothes in, I find myself with nothing to do. I sit there quite uselessly, wondering what to do to kill time.

There's a knock on the door. Finnick opens it, but I can't see who's on the other side. No words are exchanged. The door closes. Finnick is holding envelopes.

He tosses two envelopes to me. I catch them in mid-air and stare at them.

"What's this?" I ask, staring at them as if I've never seen envelopes before.

"One," Finnick answers grimly, "is your order for tonight. You'll see that sometimes you have special requests."

I look at the first envelope. My name is scrawled on it, and it's sealed with the Capitol emblem. I drop it like it was made of acid.

Finnick laughs quietly at my reaction.

"You're going to have to read it eventually, you know." Finnick says, eyeing his own Capitol envelope. "You wouldn't want to displease the customer – or displease Snow."  
I continue staring at the envelope on the floor in disgust.

"The second envelope," Finnick continues, "is a party invite."

I look at the second envelope. It looks a lot fancier, with a looping script with my name on it. There is no Capitol emblem on it. I sigh, relieved.

"Don't get your hopes up," Finnick warns, "parties often lead to another customer."

I groan inwardly.

"You'll find that parties are the same as every night." He says, flopping down on the bed. "Except you start off wearing nicer clothes and drinking a lot."

This time, I actually groan out loud. The train moves and I fall onto the floor by the sudden movement. I moan and roll over, not bothering to stand back up again.

Stomach on the floor, I look at the second envelope in my hand. I open it and see directions to a building in the Capitol. The party is to take place tomorrow, at the top floor. There is a note, saying that my prep team will be there, along with my designer Fesiena. They are to 'beautify' me for the party. I don't see the point of it.

Finnick eyes me with amusement.

"I never took you for a drama queen." He says, amused.

I don't reply, only raise my eyebrow at him.

"You can lie down on the bed with me, if you want." Finnick offers, patting the space next to him. "I don't bite."  
"Tempting, but I'll pass." I say from my position on the floor. "I've had enough of beds and boys."

Finnick pretends to look offended, but I can see the glint of understanding in his eyes.

"A lot of girls would want to be in your shoes right now." Finnick snaps playfully.

"Yeah, and a lot of boys want to be in _your _shoes right now." I retort back. "Alone in a room with me, lying on the floor…"

Finnick laughs, a real laugh, not like the ones he gives at the Capitol.

I like his laugh.

When he finally sobers, I ask, "So is everything we do at the Capitol fake?"

"Not all of it." Finnick grins. "I'm still amazingly gorgeous and desirable wherever I am."

I give him a small smile. I already know the answer to my question. Be happy, be seductive, be desirable on camera at the Capitol. For Donnie. For Donnie. For Donnie.

We lie there in an amiable silence.

I see Finnick finally open his 'request' order and I do the same. I take a quick glance at the paper and I rumple it up and throw it against the wall as hard as I can.

I cry again, breaking the silence, and hating myself for doing so.

But the things they ask of me – the things they want me to do – I _can't._

Reading the letter, I am reminded of what it was like yesterday. I am reminded, in a flood of emotions, how I felt yesterday night. Dirty. Broken. Violated.

I can't. I can't. It's for Donnie, but I just can't. I am torn between my selfishness and my selflessness.

Finnick, understanding, comes onto the floor next to me and envelops me into his arms. I don't push away. I don't think I could even if I wanted to.

I cry into his neck and wrap my arms around his neck, thankful for something solid to hold myself to while I try to piece myself back together.

His arms are wrapped around me, and for the first time since I was Reaped for the Hunger Games, I feel safe.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

I am quite terrible at writing romances and all that, so I really, really apologize if some parts in this chapter and future chapters sound really weird. Or rushed.  
SORRY.

So yup. This chapter was more of a back story on Anxol and basically the foundation of what she has to do now. So this chapter was pretty much an 'explanation chapter'.

Any comments? Questions? Feedback? Feel free to leave it as a review - they're always appreciated!

Well, yeah. Thanks for reading once again!


	3. The Creation of an Angel

Hullo there!

Thanks for reading, and as per usual, if you have any questions, comments, or feedback, feel free to leave it as a review!

Anyways, onto the chapter!

**Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games trilogy.**

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****I was always selfless.

When people said the name 'Anxol' in my District, the first word that popped up into their mind was 'selfless.'

I always helped people before I helped myself. I always put others ahead of me. Sometimes I was treated like a doormat, but I didn't care.

As long as others were happy, it didn't matter how I felt.

I wouldn't let the Hunger Games or the Capitol change that part of me.

The Hunger Games took away my innocence, took away my fear. It took away my timid self and it completely butchered the rule I always followed – _never hurt others._

The Capitol took away my quiet demeanour and forced me to be talkative. The Capitol took away my thoughtful side, my small smiles and my careful, almost slow movements. They replaced it with bubbly unknowing, a fake beam, and energetic and enthusiastic actions.

But they can never take away my selflessness. That is one part of me I will not let them change. No matter what, I will do whatever it takes to protect the ones I love even if it means endangering myself. I won't let the Capitol hurt Donnie. Not after they took away everything else she had.

That is why, as each day passes, I go back to the Capitol. I attend all of their disgusting parties and take place in all of their repulsive activities.

I do what the dreaded 'request order' envelope tells me to do. I smile a big beam wherever I go in the Capitol. I am sweet, funny, seductive whenever I talk to a Capitol citizen – of course, not to my prep team and designer.

I am the Angel they want me to be. Not Anxol. They don't want the solitary, thoughtful, quiet Anxol. They want the sugary, witty, sexy Angel.

I obey.

**.**

I continue my routine for three months, until my Victory Tour. I travel to 12 first, and go down the District numbers until I reach the Capitol, skipping my home District – District 5.

I am on a train to District 4. It feels strange, visiting the birthplace of Finnick.

Finnick and I have become a strange sort of friends – bonding through something so strangely terrible. I only see him on the train – once when I go to the Capitol and once when I go back home.

We rotate days on the couch and days on the bed. I still won't go on the bed with him on it, despite his increasingly cocky requests. He always showers first, though, and I realize he takes eighteen minutes in the shower.

That's nine times as long as Enkol used to take.

It's hard to find things to do on the train, since we can't exactly explore. We're stuck in the compartment for hours on end.

We talk a lot, and sometimes Finnick tells me a little too much about his previous 'client'. I often find myself closing my eyes and plugging my ears trying to block out the sound of Finnick's a-little-too-descriptive story.

He knows I hate it. He does it to spite me.

He hoards secrets. He has probably thousands of them, all stored in his brain. All from his clients. Some of them are useless, he tells me.

But some are also important.

I hoard secrets of my own. Secrets I learn from my own clients. I keep them locked in a storage in my brain, a weapon I hold against each and every single one of them.

I can't sort out which secrets are useless and important, unlike Finnick. I don't know which secrets would be important to me, how a Capitol citizen's secret could possibly help me.

But this I know: all of my secrets will wound.

I am just waiting for the right time.

**.**

I finally arrive at District 4, and I am greeted by the strong scent of salt. It reminds me of the smell of Finnick's clothes, and Finnick himself, no matter how much Capitol scrubs he uses.

_The sea, _I tell myself. _It smells like the sea._

I remember asking Finnick why he always smells like salt. I thought he had a salt addiction, even though he always seemed to be eating sugar cubes.

He laughed at me, the same real laugh that I liked so much.

He told me that was how the sea smelled like. The sea smelled like salt. The waters had salt in them.

_It smells like the sea._

Even though I know this is what the sea smells like, this is what the smell _is_, the only thing I can ever think about when I smell the salt is Finnick.

Finnick is the sea to me.

I get through the speech alright, thankfully not crying when I mention Josephine. I don't remember what I said. I don't remember any of my speeches. I am as terrible as making speeches as I am listening to them. All I know is that in this speech, I mentioned Josephine.

I try not to think of her. I know she would be disappointed in me. In what I am doing.

Enkol would be disappointed in me, too. He would be so ashamed he wouldn't be able to look at me.

I can barely look at myself.

**.**

I finished all the parts required for the Victory Tour at District 4. I am done here. Now to District 3, or so I thought.

I have an extra day.

There is something wrong with train – something broke down or something – and now there are mechanics from District 6 coming over to fix it.

It would take a few hours for the mechanics from 6 to get here, and even longer to fix it, since even the engineers and captain on the train don't know what's wrong.

I have a free day. I can do whatever I please.

I want to be alone. I want to be far away from all the attention that is given to me, away from all of the eyes that are watching me.

I wander, deep and far. I find myself in a remote area, where it is nothing but rocks and sand and water. I can see mountains in the far distance. I find myself wondering if they're from District 2, and what it's like to climb them. What's it like to be away from prying eyes and to be surrounded by the peace and quiet of the mountaintops.

A hand touches my waist, stopping me mid-thought.

I jump and turn around, only to find nobody there. I turn back around, suspicious, and find myself staring into a pair of familiar green eyes.

"And they call you a victor." Finnick teases me, an easy smile on his lips.

I mock growl at him, a flirtatious smile on my face - almost automatically, by instinct.

"Give me back Anxol, Angel dearest." Finnick grins lopsidedly. "I was looking for her."

My face softens immediately and I sit down on the sand, defeated and upset.

I find myself turning more and more into Angel, finding it harder and harder to go back to Anxol.

I won't let myself turn into the Angel the Capitol created. I am not her.

Only a few words from Finnick or Donnie and Anxol is back.

Finnick comes and sits next to me.

"There she is." He says softly, gazing into my eyes.

I look away, upset that it was so easy to transition to Angel. Upset that it was almost natural for me to be someone the Capitol created. Ashamed that in a way, I was one of them. Angry that I could let myself become something like that.

"Don't be upset." Finnick says, as if reading my mind. "You know who you truly are."

I sigh, wishing it was that easy. Know who I am and I'll be myself forever.

We stare out to the ocean, watching its waves be gentle and rough at the same time. It's peaceful, calm. It soothes me, and I marvel at how lucky Finnick was to live by this ocean; to have something draw him back again.

It's always like this with Finnick. It's either an easy silence or simple talk.

He talks to me, Anxol. Not Angel. He doesn't like her too much, I think.

I don't like her, either.


	4. Bruising

Hey!

Argh, I keep on forgetting to add in that you should probably not read this until you've read Catching Fire and Mockingjay. I am so sorry if I accidentally had some spoilers in the story. Argh. Sorry again. But yeah, it's best if you read Catching Fire and Mockingjay first.

But other than that, I think you're good.

Enjoy the chapter!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

****She comes to me one night.

I had just finished my shower, and she comes in, later than usual, barely catching the train before it left the Capitol.

The first thing I notice is that she looks ruffled.

Her hair is on end, the white-blonde strands knotted together. She's wearing the usual Capitol men's collar shirt, buttoned haphazardly and sleeves rolled up. That is normally what she manages to grab and slip on as she walks to the train.

But there's only one thing I notice about her.

The bruises.

The big, purplish-black bruises that seem to bloom all over her pale body. I can even see them through the shirt; black and purple against the white.

She looks like she was used as a punching bag for a very frustrated victor. I can see blood dripping out of nail-marked shapes all over her back and hips.

She only stares at me with her pale grey eyes. I can see tears brimming in them, threatening to fall.

Her bottom lips tremble and I see her beginning to shake. Her eyes are red and they look so hurt and damaged; broken and fearful.

I wished that no one could ever look like that again.

Her legs are shaking violently, like she was about to fall; crumble to a thousand pieces. I don't know if she trusts me just yet, but I'm not willing to watch something fall apart in front of me. Someone who had been through what I have.

I had needed a wall to hold me, someone to keep me from breaking. But no one was there for me, and the process of rebuilding yourself is a slow and painful process. I wouldn't let her do the same.

I gently reach out towards her and she steps into my arms.

She wraps her arms tightly around my neck and cries into it.

I wrap my arms around her waist protectively, careful not to squeeze too tight.

She sobs into my neck, trying to form words but just ending in tears. Her hands make small fists and they pound at my chest, as if I was the Capitol and she could do damage to it after all the damage it's done to her. As if she was hitting and howling at the world for being so _unfair._

I only brush my fingers through her silky white-blonde hair, untangling the knotted strands.

She finally stops hitting me, her hands falling limply to her sides. She heaves broken sobs and tries speaking again, only to end in another wave of tears and unwanted memories.

I grit my teeth furiously, feeling murderous. My thoughts are racing through my head, all wrathful and vengeful at whoever has done this to her.

No one should feel like that. No one should have to experience that.

The thoughts are bombarded into my mind, all hateful and directed at the Capitol. How they treated other people - like we were their entertainment - was despicable.

And we don't have a choice but to follow their horrendous commands. They dehumanize us in every way and break us down to pieces, expecting us to rebuild ourselves for them. And when we don't, we are punished severely.

I wonder if there's any good left in this world. If there ever was any to start with.

I hush her quietly and try to contain my anger. She doesn't need me to be angry, too. She needs someone to be calm for her, someone who will stand still for her when her world is spinning to darkness.

The train suddenly lurches to a start and she stumbles into the bedpost, whimpering painfully as it hits her bruises.

I scoop her up in my arms carefully, like she was some sort of fragile doll. I can feel her shaking with every sob, blood and tears mingling together. I set her down on the bed, where she wouldn't hit anything too hard and sit down next to her.

She continues crying in my chest, and then suddenly pulls away.

"You finally got me on the bed with you." She laughs-sobs.

I give her small sad smile; how could she think of something like that at a time like this?

I stare at her face, extremely aware of the bruises on her cheeks and lips. They stood out dark and pulsing, painful and humiliating.

"Does it hurt?" I breathe, staring at the particularly large bruise on her cheek. I feel stupid as soon as it comes out. Of course it hurts.

She self-consciously touches the bruise on her cheek lightly and nods slightly, tears clinging onto every long eyelash.

Without thinking, I lean in and brush my lips softly against the bruise, the faintest of kisses.

She looks at me, not with surprise or shock like I expected, but with relief.

"Hush, and go to sleep." I say soothingly. "Everything will be better when you wake up."

She nods and closes her eyes. She lies down on my chest, and I lie down on the bed with her, arms wrapping around her as if I could shield her from the horrors of this world.

But I know it's too late. She's already seen it all, _experienced _it all, and it's impossible to take back all she's been through; make her innocent again.

She falls asleep in my arms, wearing the same unguarded expression as she did when she slept in the Hunger Games.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Sorry for the shortness of this chapter. In this sub-story, some chapters are a bit on the short side, though I'm sure most of it is quite long. At least to my standards.

When I wrote this story, I sort of pretended that Annie doesn't exist (though I love Finnick and Annie so much), and as I kept on writing, I had another idea, and I'd like all of your opinions on it.

Well, to me, it felt like Anxol was a bit like Annie - if Annie had lived in District 5. And you know, had a different background and all, but yeah. So my question to you is if you're okay with this - sort of letting Anxol be another 'version' of Annie. Which means, in a few ways, Anxol will share a few traits with Annie. Please let me know so I can work and edit future chapters to suit the majority of your opinions. (I can't please everybody, sorry in advance for that)  
Keep in mind that Anxol won't be completely like Annie, but in certain aspects she might be very similar to her.

So, if you don't mind, it would be great if you could leave your opinions in a review.

And of course, comments, feedback, and questions can always be left as a review as well.

Thanks for reading again, and two more chapters will be up tomorrow!


	5. Trust

Hey there!

Sorry if you were confused by the last chapter - it was in Finnick's point of view and I forgot to put that down before the story started. SO SO sorry!  
This chapter will be in Anxol's point of view, and the rest of them will probably be in her point of view unless it is stated otherwise.

SO SO sorry again. Argh, me and my terrible memory.

Anyways, well, enough of me ranting and berating myself! Enjoy the chapter!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

They say I have trust issues.

I have heard what they say about me. They know I am selfless and reserved, but they think there's another reason why I don't have any friends.

I don't trust people.

Why do I need to, when all I need is Enkol and Donnie?

Friendship works in two ways – they trust you and you trust them. That's why I never had any friends besides Josephine – they trusted me but I could never trust them.

I am willing to help. But I am not as willing to accept help.

Because I don't _trust _them to help me in the way I need.

But lying here, in Finnick's arms, I accept his help. I accept the comfort he provides.

His arms are warm and protective, and I trust him to help me. I trust him to keep me safe. I trust him not to hurt me like the way the Capitol does.

I have trust issues. But something about Finnick right now is radiating for me to trust him. Something that draws me in, something that makes me forget to be analytical and just be loose.

At first, I didn't trust him enough to even go on the bed with him, just to sit. I was perfectly comfortable sitting on the couch, a fair distance away from him. Away from those searching green eyes and messy bronze hair.

I didn't trust him with myself. I didn't trust him to do nothing. Not after what I've seen what the Capitol men do, I couldn't trust him. I didn't think I could trust anyone again. I can't erase what I've seen - how it can hurt me mentally and physically. I wasn't willing to open myself up to let that hurt tear me down again.

But as the days pass, as I show up every day in nothing but a slightly transparent shirt, all he does is get out of the washroom so I can take a shower. I am practically stark naked and he doesn't even look at me twice.

For that, I am glad. And for that, my trust with him raises a little more each day.

And today, as he holds me close like a solid wall, protective and shielding, not lustful and painful, my trust raises to a whole new level.

I am vulnerable and unguarded, crying into his shoulder and yet he does nothing but be the solid brick wall I need to protect myself from all the dangers of the world.

And when he carries me gently, like a porcelain doll, I know he will not hurt me. He will carry me to safety. Away from all the dangers. Away from the hurt.

When he kisses my cheek, as soft as a feather, I know he is not like those Capitol men. I knew that from the start. But his kiss is gentle and short, comforting and not eager like those from the Capitol. I know he will not bruise me. He will not hurt me, will not tear me down and leave me to bleed.

He is not one of them.

When he asks me softly if I want to sleep, I do. It's not an order, or something I fall into from exhaustion.

I sleep next to him – _on _him, practically – and wake up to find myself how I was when I went to sleep. I am wearing almost nothing, sleeping next to him, and he does nothing but stays the barrier I need from the world.

I know he is to be trusted.

And I trust him.

My guard is gone.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

In case you haven't noticed, this chapter is a straight continuation of the last chapter. You might notice that in between chapters, a few months (or in later chapter, maybe even years) have passed. This is because I can't list out every single detail that happens, like I did in the previous sub-story. So yes, there will be quite big time gaps in between, and I apologize for that. But I guess that leaves you and your imagination to fill in what you think happened.

And, yes, this chapter is really, really short. Sorry about that. I promise that the next chapter is much, much longer. I'm pretty sure it's longer than what I write on average per chapter, but think of it as compensation of this short chapter.

And as per usual, comments, questions and feedback are always welcome!

Thanks for reading again!


	6. Angelfishes & Uprisings

Thanks for clicking & reading!

Well, not to delay you any longer from this chapter.

**Disclaimer: ****The wonderful Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games trilogy.**

* * *

I mentor the Games for the first time.

I can't bear to watch my tributes die – and they do. It's almost inevitable.

It's so hard to watch them die, so hard to know that they relied on me to teach them the skills the survival and that I failed.

Two tributes dead. I have failed.

Their names are engraved in my head, burned into my memory. I have let them down. I have let them die. I have let them suffer, have let everyone they knew suffer. It is all my fault.

A girl from District 7 wins. Her name is Johanna Mason. I did not expect that. She seemed weak, fragile, and almost handicapped at handling weapons. I almost thought she would drown in all the tears she cried, before she even entered the Games.

But she is most definitely not the weak little girl she portrayed to the world.

She is deadly with an axe, handling it with a malicious strength and skill. Lumber. She must have been wielding those things as long as Finnick's been wielding his trident.

The last cannon rings and she is crowned a victor, dressed in blood and guts, eyes opposite of the red, crying girls she was a few weeks ago.

She played the Capitol. Toyed with them and made herself innocent, only to stab them in the back when they least expected it.

I am afraid of what the Capitol will do to her.

There is not enough space in the compartment for three.

**.**

I met Haymitch Abernathy, the mentor for District 12. He's more often drunk than he is sober, and most of the time I can't understand him through his slurred speech.

But he's okay.

I remember trying to get him to his room multiple times, or holding out something for him to throw up in. He turns to liquor and booze, until he's barely human anymore. Almost like he's just a wasted version of the man he used to be.

Finnick told me to give up, that he's really not worth taking care of, since he'll just do the same thing in two hours. Get drunk, pass out, repeat.

But I stubbornly refused and kept on helping Haymitch.

Stubborn. I never was stubborn. That was the trait Enkol had.

However, when Haymitch is not being drunk, pessimistic, or throwing up, he is staring at me strangely. Not like the disturbing way the Capitol men do, but it's still uncomfortable. Sometimes he stares at me with a disappointed expression on his face, like I let him down or something.

Maybe it's because I don't hold the bucket close enough to his face.

**.**

"Evening, Angelfish." Finnick sings as I step into the compartment.

He leans in for a kiss and I dodge it a second too late.

His lips already brush my cheek and is gone before I can hit him.

I make a sour face, pouting.

"You," Finnick flops onto the bed, "are the only person who avoids my kisses."

Finnick has been much more comfortable after the night he saw me all bruised up. He's seen me at my worst and he accepts me for it, even holds me close.

I, too, have been more comfortable around him. But not _that _comfortable.

"And you," I flop down on the bed next to him, "should be happy. Don't you get enough kisses every day?"

"Not enough from you, Angelfish." He grins mischievously.

I roll my eyes.

Finnick recently started calling me 'Angelfish.' I have no idea why. I actually quite like it, though I would never admit it to him. Even though it has 'angel' in it, like a reminder of who I am in the Capitol, just by adding 'fish' at the end of it somehow made it sound graceful, innocent, and carefree.

I have no idea how such a simple word could do that to another word that has been tainted to me.

Finnick catches me, his arms around my waist, and lifts me up in the air as if I don't weight anything more than Donnie.

"Are you ready for tonight?" He smirks, eyes glinted with mischief.

"Of course I am." I reply. I squirm my way out of his tight grasp and land right on top of him. He grunts in pain and I laugh at him. I wince slightly, since I landed on his 'Abs of Steel', as he calls them.

They sure _felt _like steel. I rubbed my own stomach painfully.

All of us victors had a room in our houses at Victor's Village where it is filled with nothing but weapons and training dummies. It's quite like the Training Centre in the Capitol, where the tributes trained for the Hunger Games.

Most victors don't use it. They have no need to – we've been granted immunity from the Games.

But victors like me and Finnick – we use it to keep in shape.

And apparently, it's working on Finnick.

"You'd better get ready." Finnick groans slightly, patting his sore abdomen. "We're almost there."

Today was another party – a different one from the usual parties Finnick and I attend. It's like a victor's party, where all the 'popular' victors go, along with some creepy Capitol citizens who liked sponsoring them. Or just creepy Capitol citizens who eye the victors like we were meat.

It normally is held a little after the Hunger Games, so that the new victor is invited.

The train stops and Finnick and I get off, leaping off like kids, though we knew what the night held was anything but childish.

"After you, my fair lady." Finnick says in an exaggerated Capitol accent, his hand outstretched like he was leading me to a ball.

"Thank you, kind sir." I say in my Capitol accent, which, is not as good as Finnick's. He had more experience. It wasn't a good thing.

We gallivanted to the large building in the heart of the Capitol - a skyscraper that almost seemed to touch the heavens.

If there was one.

As we passed, whispers surrounded us, but they were as meaningless as the ground we stepped on. It was extremely uncommon for two victors from different Districts to talk to each other, let alone joke and skip with each other like Finnick and I. But we were - well, what we did every night - and I suppose that made it okay, at least for a little bit.

In other words, the Capitol often thought that Finnick and I were simply 'sleep acquaintances' - as they put it in one of their broadcasts a few days ago.

We enter the skyscraper and we are immediately escorted the elevators and given instructions as to which floor our prep teams will be waiting for us.

We punch the numbers in the elevator and wait for the elevators to rise.

As it does, Finnick stares out the glass windows, looking out at all of the Capitol, a bloody sunset behind it.

"I wonder," Finnick muses almost to himself, "how something so beautiful can be so evil."

I take one look at the blood-red in the sky and am reminded of the blood tainting the grass at the Cornucopia.

"The Capitol isn't beautiful."  
"It isn't without you in it, Angelfish." Finnick turns back to me, a cheesy grin on his face, the mood suddenly lifted.

"Angelfishes don't belong in the Capitol." I arch an eyebrow.

"That's right." Finnick only smiles wider. "Angelfishes belong in the sea."  
Finnick turns away from the bleeding Capitol and all of its unseen horrors as the elevators rise higher and higher.

And I can't help but to think back to the time when I thought Finnick was the sea.

**.**

I am greeted by my prep team and Fesiena. They have been eagerly dressing me up for each party, and thankfully, do not make me look too tacky.

They proceed to scrub me raw, spray and paint strange things on me, and stuff me into a dress. As the days pass, I swear the dresses are getting smaller, because I am definitely not getting any bigger.

They squeal – they do that a lot – and send me off to the party. They would be following shortly after. I was wearing a very short and very tight bright red dress, accompanied with bright red lipstick, tall red high heels, and a massive amount of eyeliner.

I look like I'm bleeding – the bright red everything standing out like blood against snow on my skin. Like the life was seeping out of me and into the blood in the sky.

I sigh and go to the top floor of the building, though it was the last thing I wanted to do. Another party, another customer. Finnick and I would not be going home alone tonight.

When I reach the roof, the party is already in full swing. Treats, drinks, pills, all scattered around the large buffet tables. The Capitol people look even stranger in the dim lights, and there is pulsing music everywhere.

I see Finnick already talking to a Capitol woman with neon pink hair – probably his customer for tonight. He smiles when he sees me but he does not leave the woman's side. The woman catches his smile and glares at me. I ignore her and smile back at him.

I quickly scan the crowd, but I can't find my 'client' for tonight. I am so relieved – free time – at least for now. That is, until I'm forced to leave and entertain.

I see Johanna Mason, the new victor. She looks exactly like how she did in the Games, except without blood dripping from her hands. But there is that sharpness in her eyes that make you wonder how on earth you ever thought she was weak.

She looks positively livid about something, and I wasn't too keen and figuring out exactly what.

But I watch her carefully, while talking to Plutarch Heavensbee, a Gamemaker about something. I don't even know what I'm talking to him about. I'm just nodding and smiling, trying to keep my eye on Johanna Mason.

Suddenly, Plutarch leans in close to me and whispers, "Did you hear the latest gossip? I hear there's an uprising."

I was taken aback. I was _not _expecting _that. _

I cover up my surprise quickly and put on my best Capitol smile. Bright, charming, and utterly fake.

"What are you talking about, Plutarch? Would you care to nab me a glass of that delightful wine over there?" I smile sweetly.

Plutarch eyes me, as if amused. It unnerves me.

"You are good at hiding things, Ms. Enkeli." He smiles, unmoving. "But I kid you not."

I stare at him, not comprehending. An uprising? In Panem? The last time that happened, we lost and the Capitol won, then they blew up District 13 and created the Hunger Games.

I shudder, thinking about if this 'uprising' failed, what kind of punishment the Captiol would give us then. What kind of new horrors will they unleash onto us?

"Haymitch and I have it all planned out." Plutarch continues. "I'm sure you and Mr. Odair would be happy to join us."

"No." I shake my head. "No, no, no."

I hate to say it, but Haymitch is drunk all the time. All the things that spew out of his mouth are always crazy, delusional, and insane. Or vomit.  
"Oh?" Plutarch says seriously. "Not even for your dear sister? Isn't she going to be old enough to participate in the Reapings in about 5 year's time?"

How did he know about Donnie?

"Five years is a long time." I say shakily, trying and failing to convince myself.

"But it will fly by." Plutarch points out. "And what will you do when she is Reaped?"

"She won't be." I say defiantly. "Her name will only be in there once."

"Do you think that matters to the Capitol?" Plutarch eyes me. "Don't you find it a little strange that your parents died in that unfortunate accident? That your brother was Reaped with only three slips with his name on it? That his death is connected to your parent's? That you were Reaped yourself with only four slips in the draw? That you, too, had so many chances to die, more than any other tribute in that arena? Isn't that a little odd to you?"

"_You _are the Capitol." I hiss venomously at him, my Angel ploy gone. I remember who he is, where he comes from. "_You _are one of _them _too. _You _have planned this out. Why?"

"I have planned nothing out, Ms. Enkeli." Plutarch says, staring at me straight in the eye, dead serious. "I am merely warning you. The Capitol is picking your family off, and your sister will be next. The only way to save her is by joining the uprising."

No, Donnie will not be Reaped; I will not let it happen, will not allow it to happen, will not watch my little sister - the last person I have in this broken world - fight and die in front of me.

But how much control do I have over who gets picked for the Hunger Games?

"If you don't, you will be this," Plutarch eyes my ensemble, "for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?"

I stay silent, giving him a death glare. He can't tell me what I can and cannot do for the rest of my life; if this is what will keep Donnie safe, I will do it. I will do anything. It won't matter. I don't care if this is who I am for the rest of my life; the horrid, fake Angel, if it keeps Donnie safe.

"You should be honoured." Plutarch grins at me, like I was an old friend though I think of him nothing of the sort. "The whole idea was sparked by you."

Then he winks at me and he's gone, almost as if the Capitol has sucked him away.

I stand there, trying to compose myself back to my Angel self.

An uprising? Sparked by me? I knew that the Capitol was picking my family off, I had my suspicions. I didn't want to think about Donnie's name in the draw for the Hunger Games, her being drawn, watching her die because I couldn't train her right.

I can't handle that guilt.

I didn't want to think about Donnie being drawn. There is such a small chance, almost impossible. Her name will only be in there once.

But I had a nagging feeling that she would be drawn. She had to be drawn. Enkol and I were drawn with such a little chance, and look what happened to the both of us.

Finnick told me that the Capitol was angry at me for electrocuting the arena when I won.

They were already picking my family off, and I already made them angry. They would be murderous enough to send Donnie in at the age of twelve.

The Capitol can hold grudges.

I would do anything to protect Donnie.

I will join the uprising.

But I will need more information about it first.

**.**

The party is pumping, the drinks flowing.

My 'client' is late. Or perhaps I can't see him. It doesn't matter. They are always there to pick me up by the end of the night.

A strange movement catches my eye. It's the stairwell door swinging shut.

No one else has seen it but me.

I am a victor. I am naturally suspicious of everything.

But I am also Anxol. I am naturally curious about everything.

I sneak through the stairwell door, and hear voices a flight of steps down.

I tiptoe as quietly as I can wearing these ridiculous heels, and I come upon Johanna Mason being pinned down by a Capitol man.

"Get off of me!" She howls, trying to push the man's face away from her own.

She's strong, but the man has her in between a hard wall, and it's hard to escape wearing too-tall heels and strange gloves.

I would know.

"That's where you are." I croon loudly. The both of them stop and stare at me. The man turns out to be my 'client'. So that's where he was – I wasn't even lying.

"I was looking all over for you." I purr, something I had picked up from Finnick.

They only continue staring at me as if I'd grown two more heads.

"I thought you had left me." I pout, sticking my red lips out.

The Capitol man stops trying to crush Johanna. Johanna seizes this moment and I see her about to push him down the stairs.

I flash her a glare, saying _not yet._

She, surprisingly, listens to me and stops, eyes filled with disgust and fixed on the repulsive Capitol man in front of me.

"I thought _you _had left _me._" The Capitol man says with a sickly sweet voice.

"Why would you ever think that?" I give him my best innocent look, too-long eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings.

Johanna tries to quietly walk away, but that's a tough task when wearing clicking heels in a silent stairwell. She stops moving once the heel makes a loud _click._

"You went to Plutarch and you looked so angry." The Capitol man said sorrowfully – or as sorrowfully as Capitol people can get – which was not too sorrowful.

"Plutarch likes his women angry." I say seductively, something I've mastered in the past year. "Some find it…satisfying."

The Capitol man moves towards me until his nose is touching mine and I can see all of his grotesque tattoos on his face.

I had a feeling I'd be seeing a lot more in a few hours.

Johanna is frozen, forgotten in the background. But if she makes too much noise, she will be noticed, and then the man would have twice as much as he started off with.

Or at least he hopes.

I don't want to try and squirm my way out of that, nonetheless. I don't think Snow would appreciate me leaving a bloody client in a stairwell.

"Now, how about you leave this inexperienced victor behind," I whispered in his ear, "so we can have some fun?"

The man nods feverishly and the proceeds to shove his tongue down my throat. I try my best not to gag.

He closes his eyes, but I don't. I catch Johanna's eyes and look at the door above us that would lead us back to the party, signalling for her to _get out _while he's distracted.

She nods slightly and quietly takes off her heels and sneaks her way up again.

I close my eyes and will this night to be short.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Longer than what I usually put up, so sorry about that; if it was an eyeful and terrible and all.

Oh, and before I forget - big THANKS to Sweet Corruption for sending me lovely reviews and messages (:  
I really do value your opinion and it really helps out a lot!

Any questions? Comments? Feedback? Feel free to leave it as a review!

Two more chapters up tomorrow!


	7. Happy Pills

Hey there!

I have some bad news: I won't be able to post two chapters per day anymore. I'm completely swamped for the next two months, and I don't want to post up two terrible chapters each day.

I will still be posting each day, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut it down to only one chapter.

SORRY!

I would really love to keep posting two per day, but I'm afraid my teachers don't think the same. So I'm going to have to only post one. Until, hopefully, the homework decreases.

Sorry again ):

* * *

I don't see Johanna again until her Victory Tour.

She arrives in District 5, all scowls and glares, and you automatically remember the girl who axed the tributes in one unforgiving swipe.

After we have dinner in the City Hall, I say I'll lead her to her room for the night. I'd think she'd much prefer that rather than Vinster, who she was glaring at.

I fall in step with her long, angry strides, as if she wanted to get away from there as possible. I felt quite the same.

There's a slightly awkward silence in the air. The last Johanna had saw me, someone had their tongue down my throat.

"Thanks." She says awkwardly. I can tell she's not too good with apologies. "For that time at that party."

"It's nothing." I wave it away.

"So are you and that Finnick Odair…?" Johanna asks, the end of her question left in the air. There's no need to finish it. We both know what she was asking.

"Yeah." I answer, a bit stiffly. It was not something I was proud to admit. "Did you refuse?"

"Yeah." She spits out bitterly. "There was no happy ending."

So that's the reason why the hatred burns in her eyes. No doubt I would have looked the same had it been me.

I don't ask her if she regrets it, or what she would've done if she knew what was to happen when she chose that path. I don't know whether to be glad someone like her wasn't selling herself, or to be upset over the fact that her whole family is dead - and she is left to deal with the guilt.

I can only think about the unfairness of it all.

We walk in silence – not the awkward silence it was a few minutes ago, but in a thoughtful silence, one where you think of all the 'what-ifs.'

What if Enkol had won the Hunger Games?

What if Johanna was in my shoes and I was in hers?

What if -

"Is Finnick Odair always like that in person?" She questions, stopping me mid-thought. I am thankful for the interruption - I didn't want to think about the answers to the questions I asked internally.

I know what she means. Is Finnick the playboy he is in front of the cameras all the time?

"Depends on who the person is." I answer thoughtfully. It was true. He wasn't exactly who he was in front of the cameras all the time - he played that up for the Capitol.

We continue walking, stepping carefully up the stairs in our too-high heels.

"You know, you're not too bad." Johanna admits, breaking the silence. "I thought you were on happy pills or something all the time."

I laugh. "I'm glad they don't have happy pills. If there's one thing the Capitol can't change, it's our emotions."

They change everything else. They take everything we have. The last thing they should be able to take is what we feel, what we think.

"Damn right." Johanna grins, the first time I've ever seen her do so. It suits her; a fiendish smirk, almost. "And right now, I'm feeling absolutely murderous."

"You should be." I say seriously. "I am, too."

After all the Capitol's done to us? Made us kill. Made us watch. Made me sell myself. Made Johanna deal with the guilt of her family's death. Made us live a life without any hope.  
Suddenly, we're both sober, no longer laughing or smiling. Only pondering on dark thoughts.

We reach Johanna's room for the night. I open the door and show her the lavish room, the best we've got in District 5.

"Bye, Johanna." I wave as I turn to walk away, a faint smile on my lips. Already I'm closer to her than most of the other victors, with the exception of Finnick.

"See you later, An." I hear Johanna call as she closes the door.

I smile to myself, just from Johanna using a simple nickname for me.

I think I like Johanna a lot more than I originally thought I would.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Ugh, yes, I know this was a short chapter. And yes, I know this was a pretty terrible chapter. It will get better! I promise!

But for now, I'm just really sorry for this junk I called a chapter. SORRY ):

Writing out Johanna is actually really, really, hard. At least for me. So if she's extremely off or strange in the next few chapters, I'd just like to apologize beforehand.

Argh, today is just not really my day. SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY ):

I feel so terrible for all of this, having a sucky chapter and then not being able to post two per day.

Sorry (again).

Well. Thanks for reading.

Questions? Comments? Feedback? Leave it as a review!


	8. What I Need

Hey there!

So, yup. Next chapter.

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins**

* * *

"What do you think of Johanna?" I ask Finnick the next week, when we finally had to go back to 'work', after the Victory Tour was finished.

"Angry. Hard-to-get." He grins lopsidedly. "I like my girls hard-to-get."

"It must be because all the other girls in Panem are so easy to get." I sigh, stretching lazily on the bed. "It must be so hard to be so desirable."  
"I know." Finnick sighs dramatically. "How did you know?"

I sigh and roll my eyes.

"She's hard-to-get, like you." Finnick suddenly rolls towards me, green eyes flashing with amusement. "But you're more playful."

I hop out of the bed and go to the closet, searching for the shirt I would wear tonight. I ignore Finnick, though a small smile finds its way onto my lips.

"I like my girls playful, too." He darts in and gives me a quick peck on the cheek, too fast for me to push away.

I scrunch up my nose in distaste, and Finnick laughs at me.

"Your reaction's too funny, Angelfish." He chuckles, eying my discomfort and thoroughly enjoying it.

I stick my tongue out at him and go into the washroom for a nightly shower.

I hear the door knock, and I know it's the envelopes for tonight's 'special request.'

When I emerge from the washroom, I am hesitant. I've been wanting to ask Finnick something, though for the past few months I haven't managed to sum up the courage to ask him.

"Finnick," I ask nervously, "did Plutarch Heavensbee mention anything….strange at the Victor Party?"  
It was months ago. But I still couldn't get Plutarch's words out of my head.

_Isn't she going to be old enough to participate in the Reapings in about 5 year's time?_

It was only a few months until Donnie's eighth birthday.

Four years left. Four years until I could watch her death in front of me. The last person left, dead. It's so soon. Too soon.

Finnick, sensing my nervousness, comes over an embraces me. I guess my worry was clearly plastered on my face. Finnick always told me I was an open book, at least to him. I don't know whether to be worried or relieved about that.

These are the moments where I feel like I need Finnick the most.

There are the times when all Finnick does is tease me and annoy me, and then there are the times when he knows exactly what I need to be comforted and he gives it to me.

Most of the time, it's a simple embrace.

I have never seen Finnick unhappy, or upset enough to cry on my shoulder like I did on him.

I should feel weak, but I don't. Finnick is my rock, my solid wall. He will not crumble.

He will protect me. I trust him.

"He mentioned an…uprising." Finnick whispers, his voice muffled by my hair.

"He mentioned it to me, too." I confess. "I know it will protect Donnie, but I don't want it to turn out like the Dark Days."

"Me too." Finnick holds me close. "I talked to Haymitch about it."  
I pull away to look in his eyes. "Really?"

I don't think I've seen Haymitch hold up long enough to last a decent length conversation.

"Yeah." He pushes my head back to his chest again so he can put his head on my head. I make a small mew of protest but I don't try to move away. It's comfortable, the heat of his skin warming me, the smell of familiar salt filling my nose.

"What did he say?" I ask, my voice muffled.

Finnick hesitates. "I think it's something he should tell you himself."

I pull away, wondering what Finnick won't share with me. I see that Finnick is nervous.

Finnick is never nervous. His nervousness makes _me _nervous.

"Finnick," I ask, changing the subject, "why are you never unhappy? You have all the reason to be."

Finnick only grins his lopsided grin and answers, "I have you, my Angelfish."

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Argh, yes. I know. Another short chapter. SHOOT ME NOW.

My gosh, I feel so terrible giving you guys another short chapter. SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY ):

I promise that the next one will most definitely be longer. I've realized there's quite a lot of short chapters in this sub-story. So, I really, really apologize for that because I know it sucks reading a short chapter.

Sorry. Again. Really. I think I might be more upset then you guys.

Okay, I'll stop ranting now.

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Thanks for reading & next chapter up tomorrow!


	9. Face of the Rebellion

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Thanks for clicking and hopefully reading!

Well, not to delay! Onto the chapter!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

I was a quiet girl.

Sometimes I still am, in those mornings where Donnie is gone to school and I am quiet, reflecting on my thoughts. I find that I am most like the old Anxol when I am all alone. But when I am with others, I am a new Anxol – not Angel – but another Anxol. The new Anxol is quite a lot like Enkol. I think Enkol would be proud of this new Anxol. I am happy to be both the old and new Anxol.

The old Anxol would hate loud noises because she is thinking.

But the new Anxol seems to thrive off of it because it means she doesn't have to think.

Finnick and Johanna are always a loud noise.

They always scream at each other – well, Johanna screams and Finnick laughs, which only makes Johanna scream more.

And I am in the middle.

Sometimes I am laughing at Johanna because she looks ridiculous and sometimes I scream at Finnick because he is _acting _ridiculous.

"That Finnick Odair is _impossible_!" Johanna fumes in the middle of the night, when we went down for a small snack. As victors, we were perfectly allowed to roam wherever we wanted. "How do you _stand _him?"

"I have no idea." I sigh, laughing at Finnick's pretend-offended look. He decided to accompany us, probably seeking for entertainment.

I think we all need entertainment right now, a reason to laugh. Mentoring the Hunger Games isn't too good for your morale, and right now, we needed all the happiness we could get to keep our minds off what was going to happen in a few days.

"An doesn't really _stand _on me, Jo." Finnick smirks. "Actually, she sits on me. Preferably on – "

"Finn!" I whisper-shriek. "I _do not_! You nasty, disgusting, revolting – "

"Perverted!" Johanna chimes in.

" – perverted – " I add, eyebrows arching.

Finnick cuts me off by leaning in close, so close that I could see every long eyelash and the flecks of gold in his eyes. My words die in my throat.

"I know you like it." Finnick says huskily.

And all of a sudden, I'm tackling Finnick, and Johanna is right behind me.

We both start hitting him and scratching him, all while yelling at him.

"You're a disgusting, revolting, repulsive – " I claw at him, but not too hard.

" – trashy, tacky, filthy – " Johanna continues, punching him.

" – pig!" I finish, yelling, but smiling at the same time. Finnick grins when he sees my smile, even as Johanna violently pulls at his leg.

We continue beating him up – I find this quite therapeutic sometimes, actually – even though Johanna and I against Finnick was practically bullying.

Not like we cared.

"You know I love girls on top." Finnick grunts out amidst the flying punches.

Finnick actually hits us back. He doesn't just try to stop us. He's such a gentleman like that.

"Maybe one day all three of us should just get together and – " he doesn't finish because Johanna's screech drowns him out.

"That's it! An, I'm going to the Training Centre to go get an axe." Johanna calls out.

"I'm right behind you." I wince, as Finnick punches me a little too hard in the ribs.

"Ooh, An, what's this?" Finnick smirks in his usual cocky manner. "Feisty, I see. I like this new side of you."

"Alright, alright, break it up!" Haymitch hollers, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. We all stop, so surprised that his words weren't slurred, especially this late at night.

"If I knew being sober had this effect on you kids, I would be sober more often." He mutters.

We continue staring at him as if he had three heads. I think Haymitch having three heads might have been a little less surprising, actually.

"Come on," Haymitch says, nodding to a room on his left, "it's time we discussed some things."  
Immediately, all three of us untangle ourselves from each other and run towards the room, like children racing to the end of the finish line.

We all knew he was talking about the uprising. It hasn't been mentioned for almost a year now, since it was first mentioned by Plutarch at that party so long ago. But it never disappeared from our memories.

Though Finnick and I didn't speak of it anymore, we knew when we were thinking about it - side glances or lip biting - it hasn't left our minds for one minute.

This is the first time we all actually gathered together without it being seemly suspicious – during our mentoring sessions for the Hunger Games.

We all file in the room and sit down in a chair that was around the table.

Haymitch makes sure the door is locked before sitting down.

"Can anybody hear us outside?" Finnick asks, eyeing the door suspiciously.

"Is there any cameras in here?" I ask, glancing around the room.

"Are there any bugs planted here?" Johanna questions, checking underneath the table for any recording devices.

"Listen, you three," Haymitch says sternly, "there's nothing in here but you, me, the chair you're sitting on, and the table. Nothing's bugged, there's no cameras, and this room is soundproof. I would know. Plutarch set this room up."  
We all eye Haymitch dubiously.

"Now, I know you three find it hard to trust any Capitol people – you two in particular – " Haymitch nods to me and Finnick, " – but you guys are going to have to."

We all scowl but wait for him to continue.

"The idea of this was sparked by you, Anxol." Haymitch looks directly at me. "Yes, you."  
"But I didn't do anything." I said, confused.

"Then what was that, electrocuting the arena? What was that, frying your tributes _inside out_?" Haymitch asked accusingly. "Does any of that sound slightly familiar to you?"

I wanted to crack a joke. I wanted to say, 'it was self-defence!' and wait for the laughter. But I didn't. I knew what I did.

"It was revenge." I answer softly, my hands skittish underneath the table.

"Exactly!" Haymitch slams his palms on the table. "Revenge for what?"  
I stay silent for a moment. I never discussed my Games with anybody. Not even Finnick. I didn't talk about his Games and he didn't talk about mine. It's not exactly a happy memory for the either of us.

We had enough sad memories to last us three lifetimes.

But I remember the exact moment I saw the mountain in the arena. I remember my token – the lightning bolt ring Marliese had given me – that inspired me. I remember seeing my brother, clinging onto life, a reflection of myself dying in front of me. I remember my parents, charred and burnt, but still holding hands. I remember the feeling of pure hatred, and the adrenaline running through me when I decided, _I was going to do it._

"Revenge for my brother. Revenge for my parents." I answer quietly, though my voice was hard. "Revenge for what the Capitol took away from me."

"Exactly!" Haymitch roars again, fully pumped. "This is what the uprising is about! Avenging the things the Capitol took from us! Protecting the things that the Capitol _can _take away from us! Preventing the Capitol from taking more! Turning the tables against them and saying _I will not play your Games any more_!"

We all stay silent, thoughts swirling in our minds restlessly.

"Beetee from District 3 have already agreed to this." Haymitch adds. "He will be in charge of all the technical problems; such as making sure the rooms are not bugged."

We all nod, remembering the friendly, intelligent victor from District 3.

"We will take over the Capitol." Haymitch says calmly, like it was a fact. "And we will make sure the Dark Days do not repeat itself again."

"And how exactly are we going to do this?" Finnick asks, his voice carrying a trace of doubt.

"I will tell you," Haymitch says, as he sits down again, "when the plan is fully set in motion."

"And _when _exactly will that be?" Johanna snapped. "One week? One year? Another whole friggin' decade?"

"We are still waiting, Johanna." Haymitch said patiently, like watching a troublesome teen throw a temper tantrum.

I remind myself that we all _are _teens.

"Waiting for _what_?" Johanna growled. "A sign that everything is going wrong? Because I think we already have a sign – it comes every single year – oh, wait, we're participating in the sign _right now._"

"Jo, calm down." Finnick said soothingly, trying to get her to think rationally.

She shot Finnick a death glare, clearly stating for him to stay out of this.

"What we are waiting for," Haymitch said tolerantly, "is someone to lead the rebellion."

"You or Plutarch." I answered automatically, without even thinking.

"No." Haymitch said firmly. "We need a face for the rebellion, someone who symbolizes the very meaning of 'rebellion.'"

"Anxol." Finnick answers immediately. I turn over in shock, to see if Finnick was simply joking like he always did. But his face is serious and his green eyes bore into Haymitch's blue ones, waiting for his response.

Haymitch shakes his head. "We're waiting for someone better."

"What are you saying, Anxol isn't good enough?" Finnick growls. "You just said so yourself that she sparked the whole thing – "

"Precisely what I mean, Finnick." Haymitch says seriously. "We can't just have a spark. We need a fire."

"So what are you waiting for?" Finnick snarls. "Someone to make the whole arena explode?"

"Finnick," Haymitch growls angrily, running out of patience, "this isn't based on how much damage a tribute can do to the arena."

"Then what do you want?" Finnick yells. "You're not going to – "

"Finn." I say softly, placing my hand on his. He didn't have to fight for me. Not because I could fight for myself, but because there was no fight to begin with.

He looks down at me eyes blazing, and I keep my hand interlocked with his. They are large and callused against mine.

He notices my expression and gets the message. He sighs, frustrated, but he sits back down.

"Finnick's right." Johanna says. "We can't wait forever. By the time you finally find the person you want, we'll all be ninety. And then what can we do? Wave our walking sticks at the Capitol?"

"The matter's settled." Haymitch said, his voice indicating that we would not argue any more about this. "We'll wait."

I can hear growls forming at the back of Finnick and Johanna's throats.

"Patience is a virtue." I whisper softly.

Finnick is the only one who hears me, and he squeezes my hand.

"So what will we do," I ask, "while we wait?"

"You act normal." Haymitch answers, seemingly thankful for a question that wasn't angrily asked.

"And what will we do when we find the one who's right?" Johanna asks, irritated.

"Protect them until they are ready to be the face of the rebellion." Haymitch answers calmly.

Johanna throws her hands up in anger.

"Great! So we wait a few decades for someone to appear, and then wait a few _more _decades for them to gather up the guts to be in the rebellion." Johanna shouts. "This is unbelievable!"

She stands up suddenly and stomps out of the room angrily, making a point to slam the door.

"She'll do it." I say quietly. "She'll join the rebellion. But she won't be happy waiting or protecting."

Haymitch sighs. "I know."

"So what about you two? Are you in?" Haymitch asks us.

I nod, and Finnick does the same.

"But why us three? Why not people like Enobaria or Seeder or somebody else?" I ask, curious.

Haymitch sighs deeply.

"There's so many answers to that question, Anxol." He eyes me with wary eyes. "Because you three have dealt with the worst of the Capitol and lived to tell. Because you're young and have the fire we need. Because you are loyal and strong."

"But the main reason is because you three have felt the injustice the most and want this the most."

Then Haymitch sighs again and leaves the room. Obviously things didn't go according to plan.

Finnick and I are left alone in the room. I let go of his hand and stand up, ready to leave. I've absorbed what I need, but one thing lays unsettling on my skin, a realization that's painful to bear.

"Anxol, wait." He calls out. I stop in my tracks and turn around to face him.

"Sleep with me tonight?" He asks, staring at me with his piercing green eyes, completely serious.

At any other time, I would've laughed. I would've arched my eyebrows or chastise Finnick for being so suggestive.

But right now was not any other time. I could see the sincerity in his eyes.

I nod.

He stands up with me and takes my hand, weaving his fingers through mine.

He doesn't let go.

**.**

When we reach Finnick's room, everything is oddly strange.

I've been alone in a bedroom with Finnick before.

But it was always on a train, always moving.

Right now, everything seems so still.

Finnick presses his forehead to mine, our noses touching.

"Are you okay?" He asked me quietly.

I close my eyes and nod slowly.

"Don't listen to Haymitch." He whispers softly. "You _are _good enough."

I open my eyes and stare at him. In my heart, I know I'm not. I can't be the face of the rebellion. I know what I represent.

"I'm only good enough for Capitol men." I murmur, ashamed of myself. I want to turn away, want to turn away from those piercing green eyes that seem to see everything inside of me.

I represent a good time in bed. It'd be a joke if I was to represent the rebellion. The Capitol wouldn't take us seriously.

"You're good enough for me." Finnick smiles faintly. "In fact, more than good enough."

I smile ruefully. I wish I could believe Finnick. I wish I c_ould _be the face of the rebellion, could be the hope everybody needs. I wish I was good enough.

"Remember that." He breathes. "You're my Angelfish and you're all I need to be happy."

I close my eyes and I don't reply.

I don't hear anything. I don't see anything.

But I feel something.

Finnick's lips on mine, as soft as feathers, making my heart flutter.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Woohoo, finished a chapter! A bit of it was weird, yes, I am quite aware of that.

But other than that, this is one of my favorite chapters. Not too sure why. But is, so, whatever.

Anyways, if you have any questions, comments, or feedback, please leave it as a review!

Thanks for reading once again!

Next chapter up tomorrow.


	10. Mornings

Hey there!

Next chapter up!

Well, enjoy!

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games trilogy belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

****Finnick's POV

Her lips are smooth, so smooth.

They taste faintly of the apple pie she ate for dessert – sweet, just like her.

She smells like vanilla – a smell that the Capitol people try to replicate but can never quite get.

And of course, she looks like an angel. Not Angel, the Capitol girl she is, but an angel, the ones from heaven that gives you hope and tries their best to help the ones they love. Even in the worst of times, even though she doesn't know it, she saves me.

Anxol. My angel.

Her eyes flutter open to reveal those beautiful pale grey eyes of her. I wonder if she can hear my heart pounding in my chest.

I hope I did the right thing. Maybe she doesn't feel the same way. Maybe the only girl in Panem that I want doesn't want me back.

She takes a small breath, and I hold my own in anticipation of what she was going to say.

"I don't have any clothes here." She whispers quietly, eyes looking down, fingers fiddling around.

I smile faintly. Anxol was so unpredictable sometimes – scratching my face one second and holding my hand the next. It's one of the many things I love about her.

I rummage through my drawers. I fish out a shirt of mine – a simple fisherman's shirt that everybody in District 4 wore – and hand it to her.

She slips off her shirt and pants, standing there in only her underwear.

I don't stare at that. The Finnick the Capitol knows would've. He would've torn it off hungrily and threw her on the bed in a second.

But the Finnick I am with her only stares at her face.

I stare at her, and admire her lovely pink lips, her almond-shaped eyes, her high cheekbones, her strong jaw.

She slips on the shirt and smiles faintly, eyes closed, almost as if she was experiencing a delightful memory.

I change too, slipping off my shirt and changing into a clean pair of pants.

"Do you regret anything?" Anxol asks softly, holding out her arms. I come over and hold her tightly, as if she was about to swim away from me at any second.

I can't take back my name from the Reaping bowl. I can't bring back the children I killed. I can't go back on my agreement with Snow.

But everything I've done lead up to Anxol.

"No, I don't." I answer honestly, arms still wrapped around her. Her hands are wrapped around me, small and pale, like a child wishing for safety.

"Do you regret tonight?" She asks, not meeting my eyes. She squirms away from my arms.

"This is one thing that I'll never regret, Angelfish." I grin, pulling her back again.

She tiptoes and kisses me softly on the lips. I hold her close to me, until there's no more space in between us.

"Really?" Her eyes light up like a child receiving a present.

"Yes, really, you silly Angelfish." I grin, and she smiles back. "And you'd better remember that."

Without waiting for a reply, I pick her up and drop her onto the bed. She squeals and laughs, holding tightly onto me.

I climb onto the bed after her and tickle her crazily.

"Ah! No - Finnick - stop!" she shrieks, gasping for air.

"Only if you promise to never let _anyone _make you think you're not good enough." I smile deviously, though I am dead serious.

She gasps some more, trying to fight back against my hands, but with no luck.

"Okay - ah! - okay, I promise! I promise!" She gasps. "Just stop!"

My fingers halt immediately, and she slaps me playfully on the chest.

She curls up on me, arranging herself so that our legs and fingers are entwined. She lies on top of my chest, and I'm sure she can hear my thudding heart. I play gently with her hair and she taps softly on my stomach, as if to a beat of an old, familiar song.

In that silence, we could ask each other anything. I could ask her about her parents. She could ask me about my past.

But we didn't.

The past is behind us, saved for another day.

All that mattered was the present, lying together and being with each other in an impossible world.

**.**

I wake up to see her bathed in the golden light, wearing my shirt – a shirt that represented my district, her hands around my waist, her legs woven around mine, a halo of white-blonde hair around her head.

I lean in and kiss her softly. I can't resist it, can't pull myself away from her.

She opens her eyes sleepily. She hums slightly and rolls closer towards me.

"What time is it?" She mumbles to my chest.

My heart flutters where her lips touch my chest. It's moments like these, when she's so unguarded and vulnerable, that I remember she's barely twenty years old and already seen the worst of the world.

"Six thirty." I answer, smiling at her lazy form.

She groans softly. "Why'd you wake me up so early?" She playfully glares at me through sleepy eyelids.

"I just can't resist." I reply truthfully, grinning as I watch her mumble something incoherent.

She rolls away. "Well, learn to." She yawns lazily.

"Don't tell me," I crawl on top of her and pin her down, "you can resist this?"

She only smirks playfully and turns her head the other way, feigning sleep.

"Mmm." She says faintly. "It's alright."  
"We'll see about that." I smirk, mischievously.

I go down, aiming for her exposed neck. I leave a trail of light butterfly kisses on her neck and travel up to her jaw.

I hear her sigh softly as I go from her jaw to her cheeks, to her nose, and finally, to her lips.

She smiles, and I do too.

Needless to say, it was one of the best mornings I've ever had.

**.**

I am sad to see her go – even if it is because she has to go back to her compartment to change clothes.

At least I'm not sneaking out, leaving while she's in bed – like I do with so many Capitol women.

In fact, it's quite the opposite. We stand at the doorway, kissing for what seems like ages until she finally pries herself away from me.

I have no idea how she does it.

Before she leaves though, we promise to restrain ourselves when we're in public, though I thought it was impossible to do. I told her that, and she only smiled, and I like to think that she thinks the same.

Normal by day and sneaking by night. It was something we were both used to.

I don't know how it's going to be when the Games are over and we're forced to go back to our business.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Well, yeah, this chapter I kind of just made it up on the spot, so, sorry if it sounds a bit strange/weird at some points.

Any comments? Feedback? Questions? Feel free to leave it as a review!

Thanks for reading again & next chapter up tomorrow!


	11. Normal

Hey there!

Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

Enjoy the chapter!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

****The Games pass by quickly. A new victor is crowned – a Career boy – and almost too soon, I'm back on a train to District 5.

There are a lot of things that I will strangely miss about mentoring the Hunger Games – except for the fact that I'm mentoring the Hunger Games.

I will miss Haymitch, who is entertainment and work at the same time – entertainment because he's so amusing when he's drunk, to the point of vulgar – and work because it takes a lot of effort to carry him up to his room.

I will miss Johanna, who is constantly screaming and yelling at things. She yells at the screen while we're watching the Hunger Games, trying to direct the tributes into some order. She yells at Haymitch a lot – which is also quite entertaining. And she yells at Finnick the most. They have a strange love/hate relationship where they seem to hate each other so much – such big personality crashes – but they manage to tolerate each other enough to keep on coming back – for more yelling. I used to be the string that tied them together, but then the string was no longer needed, and I became the friend who would support both side and would equally yell and laugh.

I miss Finnick. I will see him every day and every night – but it's not the same. When we leave the train at night, we'll know where each one is going to. When we board the train in the morning, we'll know what each one has come from.

It won't be the same.

But I miss Donnie. She says that she's unhappiest when I'm mentoring – she knows about the Hunger Games now, they talk about it in school – and that she misses me tucking her in.

I miss her, too. In the afternoons, when she comes home from school, we'd cook up a storm – most of the time the result being inedible – or sometimes I'd help her with her school work – or sometimes we'd play small games or watch TV.

Sometimes we'd just talk, find any random topic and just chatter on for hours.

I miss Donnie.

When I arrive in District 5 and open the door to my house, everything is silent.

I am suddenly tense, taking in every detail. It is never empty. Donnie should be home by now, and she always hears the door opening.

I make up excuses in my head. Maybe she's singing in the shower again. Maybe she's in the kitchen and she can't hear over the kettle.

But there is no kettle whistling and no shower running.

And suddenly, my excuses turn into panicked visions.

What if the Capitol people took her? What if they killed her? What if Snow wasn't satisfied? What if...

With every second, my hysteria grows. I don't know how long I stand there for, until I hear…

"Surprise!" Donnie's familiar voice cries out. She pops up from behind the couch.

My heart slows, and I am flooded with relief.

"Donnie. You're here." I sigh, squeezing her in a bear hug.

"Of course I'm here. Where else would I be?" She replies with utmost innocence.

I should chastise her for hiding like that. I should tell her to never do that again.

But some things don't change. I don't have the heart to be that harsh to her.

She smiles a big, toothy grin.

We sit down on the couch and start talking.

"I'm going to be eight soon!" She beams.

"That's right." I smile. "Only a month away."  
"And you're going to be eighteen soon!" She grins.

"That's right." I laugh. "Only two days away."

In a few days, it would mark my two year anniversary of 'working' at the Capitol.

What fun.

"So, today, at school," Donnie chatters, "we were talking about the Hunger Games, and we came across a term that we couldn't quite understand – Cornucopia. What is that?"  
Donnie was always curious about everything. She mainly asked me about things regarding the Hunger Games once I told her I won them, but sometimes she asked me things I didn't know the answer to, such as 'how does a train work?'

I remember that Donnie came home one day last year, telling me that some of her teachers started talking about something called 'the Hunger Games'. She asked me what they were.

I told her.

Donnie is a naturally inquisitive child, and she asks more questions than she can answer. She always did well in school – exceeding way above average – and she always thirsted for more.

She wanted to know more. She _needed _to know more.

So, in other ways, Donnie was a bit of a blooming genius. I'm sure she knows more than I do.

I told her everything about the Hunger Games, at least what I felt comfortable telling her. When she asked me how I knew so much, I told her I won the Games.

Donnie was upset at first – for about five minutes – but she doesn't just know a lot of information, she knows a lot about feelings. She knew that I had lied to her, but she knew why I did, and she knew that my reason was very plausible.

No kidding. She used the word 'plausible' at the age of seven.

She had asked me quietly, "Did Enkol go to the Hunger Games, too?"  
I told her yes. I couldn't say no. That was too large of a lie.

I remember we were quiet for a moment. Then I remember hugging her while she cried. She told me she could barely remember Enkol any more, that he was just a distant memory. She couldn't remember our parents at all. She sobbed for hours, blaming herself for not remembering.

I told her it was okay. It was okay. As long as she remembered she used to have parents, that a long time ago, she had an older brother who had the same face as her older sister.

That was all that mattered. We just had to remember that at one point, they were in our lives.

"Well, Donnie," I explained, "the Cornucopia is a large, slightly bowl-like…thing…that is placed in the very middle of the arena. It's where all of the weapons are."

"Sissy, how am I ever supposed to understand what you're talking about if you use the word 'thing'?" Donnie sighed impatiently as I tried to find words to describe the Cornucopia.

I gave up, and instead went to look for a pencil and paper to draw it out.

Half an hour later, and a million questions later, Donnie is finally satisfied with my Cornucopia answer and I am exhausted.

"What do you want for dinner, Donnie?" I call from the kitchen.

"Fish!" Donnie yells back.

Donnie loves foreign tastes. It has to do with her wanted to know more, wanting to experience more. Recently, she has acquired a taste for fish, which means I have too, since she always eats it.

Every time I eat it, I am reminded of Finnick. I wonder if the fish in District 4 taste different from the fish here.

"Did you know," I smile at Donnie as she eagerly eats her fish, "that I have a friend who is from District 4?"

"Is it that Finnick Odair?" Donnie asks, plucking a bone from her teeth.

"Yes." I say, surprised. "How did you know?"  
"Who else could you possibly know is from District 4?" Donnie asks wryly. "You two mentor together."

"You are too smart for a seven year old." I sigh.

"Eight." Donnie points out. "I'm almost eight."

"Just because you're almost eight doesn't mean you _are _eight." I grin. "Until your birthday, you are still seven."

"Anyways, back to Finnick Odair." Donnie changes the subject quickly. "Is he nice?"

"He's alright." I answer cautiously. With Donnie, I don't talk about Finnick at all, though I'm always positively itching to. "Why? What have you heard?"

"I've heard that he's very…enviable." Donnie says carefully. "And a few other things."

I shrug. "He's nice to me."

Not a lie. He _is _nice to me. A little nicer than what Donnie thinks, but still nice.

We talk a little bit about school and the Hunger Games until Donnie pushes her plate away and yawns.

"I'm tired."

I smile at her and piggyback her upstairs, all the way to her bed. She plops down and giggles.

"Good night, Sissy." Donnie mumbles as she snuggles her pillow.

"Good night, Donnie." I kiss her forehead softly. I tuck her in, close the lights, and carefully shut the door.

I look at the clock. Nine forty-five. I wait ten minutes until I'm sure I can hear Donnie snoring, and then I grab my jacket, tiptoe to the door, and run all the way to the train station.

**.**

I practically jump on Finnick when I see him in the compartment, knocking him off his feet and landing on top of him as he falls to the floor.

"Well, somebody misses me." Finnick grins as he sees me, eyes twinkling.

"Don't pretend you didn't miss me, too." I grin back. He moves a strand of white-blonde hair out of my eyes and tucks it behind my ear. None of us makes a move to stand up or get off the floor.

The train lurches to a start, and soon after there's a knock on the door, forcing us to move.

We receive the dreadful envelopes, and it's silent when we open them. I scan the page quickly.

"Nothing's changed." I sighed as I re-read the letter.

"But everything has." Finnick kisses me softly on the lips.

We stay in our embrace until the train stops for sure this time. We silently let go of each other and walk away, fully aware of what we were going to do, and what we wish we were doing instead.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

What did you think? Any comments, feedback, or questions? Feel free to leave it as a review!

And a massive, massive thank-you to everyone who has reviewed in any of the previous chapter/previous sub-story!

Next chapter up tomorrow!


	12. Birthdays & Toys

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Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

Enjoy the chapter!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins**

* * *

****Happy birthday.

My birthday, to me, didn't mean _my _birthday. It meant _our _birthday.

It was Enkol and I's birthday. Something else we shared.

But for the past three birthdays, it's been _my _birthday instead of _our _birthday, and for each and every single one of them, there has been no one standing next to me as I blew out the candles.

This year, it's different.

Finnick and I celebrate my birthday on the train, over a small cupcake Finnick brought as a present. He was sorry he couldn't get me another present, but I thought the cupcake was one of the best presents I'd ever received.

He was standing next to me as I made my wish, and he was standing there when I blew the candle out.

This year, it was still just _my _birthday, but this year, I wasn't standing alone.

**.**

Another month passed. I celebrated Donnie's birthday – just a day filled with laughter, shrieks of happiness, and the occasional surprise.

Donnie is eight years old.

Four more years left.

Nothing should have changed.

But as Finnick said, everything has.

**.**

Finnick has never met Donnie.

Of course, I told him about her. But I could barely tell Donnie much about him, since there was bound to be a bunch of questions that would lead to her finding out about my 'job' afterwards.

I wasn't ready to tell her yet. But soon. Very soon.

One morning, Finnick asks if he can come over to my house in 5.

Of course, I ask him why.

"The train isn't stopping at Four today." He mumbles. "There was a bad haul this month."  
I nod, understanding. I heard about the bad haul, too. There was a major fish shortage now, much to the outrage of the Capitol citizens. The train wouldn't be stopping at District 4 today to pick up the usual haul of fish.

"And I don't quite like the idea of spending a whole day in the train." Finnick finishes, ending with his big puppy-dog eyes.

"You mean you don't like the idea of spending a whole day in the train _without me_." I tease, smiling though I was worried.

"Precisely. You read my mind." Finnick continues giving me his puppy-dog eyes. "Please?"  
"Fine." I sigh, but I smile and let him kiss me.

**.**

That morning, Finnick and I arrive at 5. Donnie is still asleep, so I wake her.

"Donnie." I whisper, shaking her gently. "I brought a guest today."

At the sound of 'guest', Donnie is wide awake and hopping out of bed, her dark brown hair a mess.

"Who is it?" Donnie asks excitedly, practically jumping up and down.

"You'll see."I smile nervously.

Donnie pads downstairs and I trail behind her. She stops in her tracks when she sees Finnick sitting on our couch. He stands up and waves to her.

"Hi." Finnick grins. "I'm Finnick."

"Anxol." Donnie said slowly. "Who is this?"

"Donnie," I sighed, exasperated, "he just said he was – "

"I know who he is!" She shrieks and turns around to stare at me accusingly, her happy mood dissipating in seconds . "I mean what is he doing here?"  
"Donnie, he's my friend." I explain, confused at her strange behaviour. I catch Finnick's eye and try to translate the message _sorry _through my head. He gets it and nods. _It's okay._

"Friend? _Just _friends?" Donnie glares at him, her eyes like the daggers I could throw.

"Donnie…" I sigh, trying to figure out how Donnie figured it out.

"Don't you 'Donnie' me, Anxol!" She screeches. "Don't you think I hear things at school? Hear things about you? And now you bring _him _to our house!" She spits out the word _him, _as if Finnick had killed her pet, or her best friend.

I paled. What did she hear at school? What have they been saying about me?

"Don't you think I _notice _that you're gone _every single night _and back early in the morning?" Donnie screams. "Don't you think I _realize _what you're _doing _behind my back?"  
I let out a breath, and it comes out like a hiss_,_ a balloon slowly deflating.

"He's just some _Capitol toy_, Anxol. And now he's turning you into one, too!" Donnie shrieks.

That was it.

"Donnie!" I yell. "Finnick is _not _turning me into a Capitol toy!"

I have never, _ever, _yelled at Donnie before.

"So you don't deny that he's a Capitol toy?" Donnie asks accusingly.

"A _Capitol toy, _as you so colourfully put it, is, in fact, one of the things _we _are called." I yell. "Finnick _and _I are the s_ame, _Donnie."

Suddenly, Donnie's accusing face is gone and it is crumpled up, tears spilling from her eyes. Her hair is still tangled and messy from waking up, and I am tempted to just hold her close and smooth her hair and read her stories like Enkol was still here, like I never went to the Hunger Games.

"Why?" She whispers.

"Listen, Donnie. This isn't how I wanted to tell you – " I start.

"Is it because you just _like it _so much? Is that it?" Donnie spits out, backing away from me, shaking. "Did _he _introduce you to it?"

My own sister. Everything I ever had left, looking at me with disgust in her eyes and backing away from me like I was a monster.

"Donnie!" I scream. "Will you just _listen _to me?"

Never have I ever screamed at Donnie before. I was always looking for a calm, mature, adult solution to our problems. We've been through enough. We didn't need any more problems ending with fights. Never have I resolved to yelling at Donnie.

Just another thing the Capitol has changed.

Donnie falls silent, suddenly aware at my loud yells. Her blue eyes are glossy with tears, whole body shaking with anger.

I take a deep breath and let it out, trying to regain calm.

"Donnie." I start. "When I won the Hunger Games, President Snow offered me a deal."

Donnie stares at me, tears falling, but eyes hard.

This isn't how I wanted to tell her. Not like this. Not now. But what choice did I have?

"The deal President Snow offered me," I say steadily, "was that either I – _worked _– for him, or he kills _you._"

It's silent for a few minutes. I see Finnick in the background, still standing. I mouth an _I'm so sorry, _and he mouths back _it's okay. _He gives me a small smile.

"Did he really – really say that?" Donnie hiccups, shaking still, though the anger is slowly seeping away from her eyes.

I nod. Not the way I wanted to tell her. A part of me never wanted to tell her at all. Never wanted her to look at me, her big sister whom she looked up to, with such disdain and disgust.

"He had the same deal with Finnick, too. Except with another person." I say softly, tentatively moving towards Donnie, like she was an injured animal.

Donnie just stands there, as still as stone.

"So what do you think I would do, Donnie?" I ask gently, closer to her now. "Do you think I could live with myself, knowing that I could've saved you, and that I didn't? It's just a small sacrifice, Donnie. I did what I know is right."

And then all of a sudden, Donnie jumps on me and hugs me tightly, sobbing loudly.

Finnick appears behind me, like a support. He pats my back and gives me a small, sad smile.

"Also, Donnie," I pull her away from me slightly, "Finnick and I _are _more than friends. But nothing like that. Please don't be mad."  
Donnie looks from me to Finnick and then to me again. And then she starts crying all over again.

"How can I be mad at you?" She says in between sobs. "First you win the Hunger Games to come back to me instead of going to Enkol, and then you do _this _for me and you gave up so much and then I yell at you and – I can't be mad. I'm not mad. In fact, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

I pat and hush her, though some tears escape my own eyes. I wish I could just yell out 'surprise!' and tell Donnie that this is all just one big joke, an act. Nothing more.

But we all know that's not true. This is reality. This is what I do, what I've become, and there's no turning back from it. I don't want to turn back on my deal with Snow, if it means losing Donnie.

"But why would President Snow do that?" She hiccups into my hair.

"None of us knows what Snow hides," Finnick kneels down next to Donnie, staring at her, "but we know not to refuse what he asks."

"He's not afraid to take what we love." I add softly.

But I will not let him take Finnick or Donnie. I will not let him hurt Johanna or even Haymitch.

I will do anything to protect them.

**.**

Finnick's POV

Donnie is not what I expected.

Anxol told me that she was extremely understanding, and that she was exceedingly smart. She told me she was innocent, and that she was always curious. I thought she was just saying that because Donnie was her little sister, because that's what big sisters do.

But I didn't need someone to tell me that Anxol would do anything to protect her. Anxol clearly loved Donnie very much. There was no doubting it, the way she looks at Donnie with soft, motherly eyes, trying to protect her from all the horrors of this world.

But Donnie was much smarter than what I expected. I didn't expect her understand what Anxol had to do, to apologize to her, to accept the path her older sister had chosen. But she has, and I honestly think that Donnie is one of the few people in this world that can understand without experiencing.

She also looks different from what I expected. I imagined a smaller version of Anxol. White-blonde hair, pale grey eyes, fair skinned.

But the Donnie that stands in front of me has dark blonde hair and light blue eyes. Her skin is a shade darker than Anxol's, and her jaw isn't as strong.

In a way, the two of them don't look alike, but there's something about them that connects them as sisters. Something I can't quite place my finger on, but it tells me they're sisters nonetheless.

Donnie gently reaches out and brushes my cheek. She stares at me with her light blue eyes. They remind me of the sky behind a pale cloud.

"Promise me," She whispers to me, "that you'll take care of Annie?"  
"I promise." I whisper back, meaning it. I would protect Anxol, would make sure she's safe, she's happy - _she's my Angelfish and I'm never letting her go - _as much as Anxol would protect her little sister.

Anxol watches us, her eyes filled with worry and concern. When her eyes catch mine, they soften slightly, a hint of a broken smile on her lips.

I can almost imagine Enkol standing next to the two of them, though my memory of him is blurry and hazy. I can imagine two parents who risked death for comfort and normalcy for their children.

But when I look up again, I only see two girls left; one small and hurt, the other broken and damaged.

The Capitol has torn this family apart.

But I will try and piece together what is left.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Mid-point POV change because I felt like it, sorry if it sort of annoyed you.

I remember I was so excited to write this chapter, just because Donnie finds out and everything is all yelling. But then when I re-read it, I'm just like - why did I want to write this in the first place?

Ah, oh well. Hopefully you guys like it better than I do.

Any questions? Comments? Feedback? Leave it as a review!

Thanks for reading & next chapter up tomorrow!


	13. Underwater

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Enjoy the chapter!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins**

* * *

****Right after the confrontation with Finnick and my 'job', Donnie tells me she wants to be alone.

I am hesitant to let a little eight-year-old home by herself in this dangerous world, but she insisted and I know Donnie is not like any other eight-year-old.

Donnie leaves for school and arrives home later than usual. Finnick and I try to talk normally, but the tears keep on falling from my eyes and I can barely think straight, let alone try and talk to Finnick as if I hadn't told my eight-year-old sister that I sold myself for her.

None of this is fair. I wish I didn't have to, but it's the only way Donnie will be safe.

A part of me reminds me that this is how Finnick and I met.

But I wish that Finnick and I would have met under other circumstances, and I fantasize about meeting Finnick on the beach instead of on a train.

Finnick makes small soothing sounds and holds me close, and it takes me a while before I'm ready to move away.

"Can I stay at District 4 tomorrow?" I ask Finnick quietly after I'm done sobbing on him.

"Of course you can." Finnick half-grins, like there was a hook pulling up one side of his mouth.

I smile gratefully at him. I wanted to see the ocean again, see Finnick's hometown again.

"Time to show Angelfish the sea." Finnick smiles, the ever-present light in his eyes glowing. "Are you ready for that?"

And despite my tearstains and red eyes, I smile back.

"Of course I am."

**.**

I tell Donnie where I'm going, and she nods, barely even noticeable.

I pull her into a hug, tell her all the safety precautions again, and apologize for the millionth time.

"Don't be sad, Annie." Donnie smiles faintly, eyes distant. "I'm not mad at you. I just need some time to think."

"Well don't think too hard." I joke feebly; barely a joke at all.

"Have some fun, okay Annie? Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." Donnie pats my cheek gently, in a mother-like way though she was ten years my junior. "Take some time out for yourself."

I smile and kiss her on the cheek before tucking her into bed.

I step out of my home with Finnick smiling next to me, determined to take my eight-year-old sister's advice.

**.**

After our customers were satisfied, Finnick and I stopped at District 4. Before I could even step onto the soft sand, Finnick lifts me up, throws me over his shoulder, and runs to the blue water.

I shriek and squeal, kicking my legs up, but Finnick doesn't put me down.

"Angelfishes can't be kept out of the water for long."

I can't see him, but I can hear the grin in his voice.

He sets me down gently on the sand and the cold water laps at my feet, making me shake and tingle with excitement.

Finnick guides me a few steps into the roaring ocean until the water is up to my hips.

I hold on tight to his hand, in fear that the ocean will pull me away from him. He squeezes my hand reassuringly, and turns to face me.

"What now?" I ask, eyes bright with excitement and curiosity.

"You swim, Angelfish." Finnick says with all the innocence in the world. His green eyes are wide and innocent.

"You're going to have to teach me, Sharkfin." I tease, excited to learn how to swim but scared of the current pulling me away.

"Was that a nickname I heard, Angelfish? I thought you didn't like those."

"Oh, just shut up and teach me how to swim."

**.**

Finnick's POV

Her pale grey eyes are dancing with laughter, a glad change compared to the sad, tearstained eyes they were a day ago.

She smiles faintly at me, awaiting my instructions.

I give her the basics of swimming - starting off with floating. She lies down somewhat hesitantly on the cold water, but I hold her hand tight and she smiles up at me.

I know the sea. I know it won't wash her away, wash her away far away from me.

Her white-blonde hair fans out behind her, looking like soft, curling tentacles on the water.

"Am I doing it right?" She asks, unable to hide the enthusiasm from her voice.

"You're doing perfect." I smile.

**.**

She looks so different; stark white against the blue of the world surrounding us. She definitely doesn't look like she belongs in District 4; her pale, soft skin is a dead giveaway.

But she doesn't look like she belongs in District 5, either. Not in the grey, colorless roads to the power plants. Not in the labs and computers, like how Donnie so easily fits in.

Anxol is like a puzzle piece that doesn't quite belong anywhere. Not in District 5. Not in the Capitol, no matter how much makeup they try smearing onto her face.

Not in Panem.

**.**

Angelfish can swim.

An hour later, Anxol can already hold her breath underwater and open her eyes underwater. She can kick and propel herself on her back, but she needs me to hold her hands when she swims the different strokes.

"I'm going to let you go now." I smirk playfully as I gently guide Anxol around the ocean's melodic waves.

Her pale eyes pop open with alarm.

"Oh, no you don't Finnick Odair. You're going to hold on to me and keep me safe." She warns, something sparking in her eyes.

"What was that last line again?" I tease her, wanting to hear those words from her mouth again.

_You're going to hold on to me and keep me safe._

It was something I'd be more than happy to do.

"You heard me, Finn! You better not let go!" She clamps onto my hand with a viselike grip, her small hands unnaturally strong.

She kicks her legs gently up and down as I hold her hands, still guiding her.

"Oh, I'm afraid I forgot." I grin. " guess I just have to... let go."

She shrieks and squeals but I manage to pry my hands away from her.

I swim a few meters away from her and wade in the water. She's still kicking, yelling at me.

"Swim, Angelfish! Use your arms!" I shout to her, showing her the arm motions I taught her.

It takes her a few tries, but she manages to get the hang of it and swim towards my open arms. When she reaches me, she jumps up and hooks her arms around my neck.

"You," she growls though her eyes twinkle, "are never going to let go of me like that again."

I laugh at the fierce look in her eyes, though her lips are curved up in a smile, proud of her accomplishment.

"Trust me, Angelfish. I don't dream of letting you go ever again."

**.**

By the next hour, Anxol can swim all the strokes and dive underwater. Watching her from the surface, she looks like a sea nymph straight out of the legends they told us about in District 4. Graceful, flowing, pure, her long white hair trailing behind her wherever she went.

"You're getting it!" I cheer when her head bobs out of the water again.

Her face breaks out in a large smile.

"Am I really?"

"You're a natural, Angelfish." I laugh, swimming towards her. She clings onto me and I hold her close as the ocean pulls us back and forth like a lullaby.

She suddenly kisses my nose softly and leaps away from my arms.

"Race you back to the shore!" She calls, a mischievous grin her face before swimming away.

I grin and race after her fleeting form.

**.**

Anxol's POV

Finnick is a fish underwater.

He swims without any effort, seemingly not trying at all. He holds his breath for the longest time, and is sleek and flowing as he swims.

Before I can touch the sand at the shore, Finnick is already ahead of me, scooping me up in his arms.

I laugh - it feels so nice to - and wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me to his house in Victory Village.

He has what I would easily say the best house of all - the one with the best view of the sea and the shortest walk to it.

I think I would like to live here one day. With Donnie, too. It's so peaceful and beautiful here, much better than the bleak, drab atmosphere of District 5.

Finnick sets me down in his house and I follow him up the main bedroom. He pulls out a few shirts and tosses one to me.

"Time to change." He grins his lopsided grin as he peels off his wet shirt, throwing it on the laundry hamper in the corner of the room. He leaves the room and escapes into the washroom, giving me a cheeky wink as he leaves.

I roll my eyes and quickly peel off my own wet clothing and pull on the soft, cotton shirt - obviously Finnick's by the size of it. I leave my own wet clothing on the laundry hamper and wait for Finnick to remerge.

Finnick remerges quickly, and holds out his hand to me.

"Where are we going now?" I ask, curious to see what surprises of District 4 Finnick will show me now.

"You'll see." He says mysteriously.

I arch an eyebrow at him.

"Do you trust me?" Finnick grins lopsidedly.

That's a question I don't even hesitate to answer anymore, though a year ago I would have had to think about it.

I slip my hands into his, and with an easy smile, Finnick leads me to the wonders of District 4.

**.**

Half an hour later, we are being carried away by the gently rocking ocean.

We're in Finnick's boat, only big enough to carry two.

Finnick insisted on rowing the boat, though I protested and volunteered to help. He wouldn't let me, said something about letting me enjoy the view, and rowed himself.

I sat on the little rowboat, looking down to see the beautiful rolling waves, occasionally spotting a fish or two. Whenever I do, I squeal and point it out excitedly, and Finnick only smiles at me as if I was a five-year-old.

When Finnick isn't looking, I sneak glances at him. Under the beating hot sun and surrounded by the rolling blue waves, Finnick looks just at home.

With his tanned skin, charming green eyes, and perfectly waved bronzed hair, I can see why so many people desire him.

But not too many appreciate him.

Appreciate the concern in his eyes. The comfort of his arms. They only see who he is on the surface, and though yes, I won't lie - his surface is gorgeous - it's not enough.

It makes you feel used. Like an object on display. I feel the same as him, everyone seeing and using but not actually trying to know what it's like for the two of us.

And being a victor. Seeing the visions that haunt us each night. No one understands what it's like to hurt, to maim, to kill someone and live through it. Not even Donnie understands, though she seems to understand almost everything. I hope she never will share the same feeling as me.

And I can't help but to be so grateful, so grateful of the fact that we found each other - though through circumstances I wish were different - and find someone who understands all we've been through and still loves each other for it.

I hope to never lose this boy who is the anchor that holds me down, the only person who seems to understand everything I've been through.

And yes, I'm being selfish, and selfish is a trait I've never had, but with Finnick - I am willing to be the most selfish person on earth.

I will not lose him.

**.**

Finnick's POV

We sit in my old boat as it sways gently to the soft waves of the ocean. I decide to stop once District 4 was only a speck in the distance.

This is my favorite spot. Where it feels like there's nothing in the world but you and the rolling waves of the ocean.

Anxol and I splash around for a bit, and we even dive in.

"Were those real angelfishes?" She asked excitedly, pointing to the quickly skirting away fishes.

"Yes." I laugh at the delight in her eyes. "They were."

She marvels over everything, the color of the sea, the fishes, the sand. It makes me smile - as long as she's smiling too.

She pulls me down underwater with her, like those sirens in the stories that dragged the fisherman down to their watery deaths. If Anxol was a siren, I would gladly follow her to the bottom of the sea.

She pulls me in, deep into the depths of the ocean. She paddles towards me, eyes shining and smiling brightly.

I swim towards her and hold her tightly, and her lips meet mine. Anxol's lips are soft even underwater, her eyes closed and lips curved up. Her white blonde hair swirls around us, her arms wrapped me, legs tangled with mine. She doesn't move away from me and I don't move away from her, even as we slowly float to the surface.

In that moment, all there was nothing in the world but me and her, entwined together as the ocean carried us away.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

More POV changes in this chapter, so sorry about that. But I don't know, I just wanted to show both Anxol and Finnick's side of this experience, and I didn't want to give you guys bunches of short chapters on just one thing, so yeah. Sorry if that kind of bugged you, the perspective changing every few paragraphs. I promise that the remaining chapters for this sub-story will most likely NOT have any mid-chapter perspective change.

Sorry again!

Just a bit of a more lighthearted chapter; sort of getting away from all the terrible things & sad feelings and all that. Just a chapter to lighten up the mood a bit; show that there is some happiness in their lives though sometimes it doesn't seem like it.

But yeah. I liked the idea of this chapter, Anxol learning how to swim, but it kind of bugs me how it's written out. I can't quite change it to my liking, but hopefully you guys like it, at least (:

Any comments? Questions? Feedback? Feel free to leave it as a review!

Next chapter up tomorrow.


	14. Girl on Fire

Hey there! Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

Well, not to delay! Hope you enjoy the chapter.

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins**

* * *

Three.

Two.

One.

One more year until Donnie is to participate in the Reapings.

Three years have flown by, just like Plutarch has predicted so long ago.

Six more dead tributes. Their names are engraved in my memory, like a scar I'll never forget.

I have let them down. I have let their family down. I have let my district down.

Finnick holds my hands tightly and whispers into my ears words of reassurance, but they go through one year and come out the other. Even though his words can't erase the guilt I feel, I am grateful for his presence and support.

I can't believe it's been five years since I first met Finnick.

Three years have passed, days spent with Donnie, watching her grow up into an even smarter girl, nights spent with countless Capitol men, hoarding secrets that I'll one day use. Donnie's brain is a storage for information and mine is a storage for secrets. We have both grown up in the past few years, one for the better and one for the worse.

And those in-between moments, those moments where it's not quite day and not quite night, in between yesterday and today; those moments are spent with Finnick.

Moments, where, he teases me and jokes around, and I laugh and tease him back.

Moments, where, he knows exactly what to say, exactly what to do, and all I can do is smile.

Sometimes he brings out the old Anxol, the quiet, thoughtful girl who just wants to stare at him and kiss him in silence.

Sometimes he brings out the new Anxol, the loud, funny girl who jumps on him and lets him spin me around while shrieking.

He brings out _me._

He's almost a part of me now, almost natural for him to have me by his side. I am slightly incomplete without him, and he is still the ever-present wall I need.

I know exactly how his fingers fit with mine. I know the crook of his neck, where my head so often lies. I know the piercing eyes that I can't resist, the lopsided grin that he saves only for me. I know the calluses on his hands and the scars on his chest. I know his golden skin and his beautiful wave-tossed bronze hair.

I know him. And he knows me.

He is the one thing I am selfish about.

**.**

Finnick gently traces a scar on my arm while we sit in the mentor's room.

"Did Johanna give that to you?" He asks, looking at the newly healed scar. Johanna glares at him.

She, obviously, knew about us. But that didn't make anything awkward between the three of us – we still fought and laughed – Johanna doing the fighting, as usual, and Finnick doing the laughing, as predicted.

The three of us often trained each other while we mentored. We were one of the few victors who still trained, and it was always more fun when you're with someone else. It was a way, for all three of us, to let out the rage. Let out the frustration and anger and hurt and just be able to feel like we're doing _something _instead of waiting for some hope that we might not know ever come.

"Mm." I said, neither denying or confirming, sitting on his lap. "I was too slow."

"She was too busy dreaming of her _golden boy_." Johanna snickered.

"Was not!" I protest, as Finnick chuckles.

"Don't worry, An." Johanna grins. "I still think you're okay, despite your terrible taste in men."

I burst out laughing as Finnick protests.

Finnick playfully punches Johanna, and Johanna punches him back hard.

I high-five Johanna, and she returns it with a smack. Finnick gives me his puppy dog eyes, and Johanna snorts with laughter. She is one of the few people who I am sure can resist Finnick's puppy dog eyes.

"I'm not picking sides, Finn." I smile, pushing his puppy dog eyes away.

"But Angelfish…" He whines sorrowfully, his whole posture drooping.

"You heard the girl, Odair." Johanna pushes Finnick. "Lay off the eyes!"  
Finnick sighs in defeat, and there is a comfortable silence.

It's moments like these where it's so easy to forget the three of us are mentoring the Hunger Games, that we will be watching kids die in a matter of days.

It's moments like these that I find so easy to pretend we're just three friends, talking, as if we weren't training children to kill, as if once upon a time, we didn't kill children ourselves.

As if the Hunger Games didn't exist.

Haymitch bursts into the room, ruining the silence. All three of us turn to look at him.

Haymitch has been more…erratic this year. I'm not too sure what he's been drinking, but he keeps on staring at the screen with bug eyes. I'm not too sure if I prefer the drunken half-unconscious Haymitch or the crazy attentive one.

"Did you see the tribute girl for 12?" He asks us, eyes wide and bloodshot.

Of course we did. We all saw the Reapings that year - how could we have not?

A little twelve-year-old girl's name was drawn for District 12. Primrose Everdeen, if I remember correctly. Small, blonde, and shaking through her brave face.

But for the first time in decades, someone volunteered. The little girl's older sister, Katniss Everdeen.

She volunteered to protect her little sister.

She was to play in the Games, and untimely, as all District 12 tributes do - die.

"We're not blind, Haymitch." Johanna states wryly. "Of course we did."

"Watch her." Haymitch says firmly, almost forcing us to. As if we had a choice.

We nod hesitantly, and Haymitch bolts back out of the room.

"Do you think..." Finnick starts to ask, hushed.

"I hope so." I say, looking at the screens.

The face of the rebellion. The hope for us all, the hope to restore this cruel, damaged world.

Haymitch and Plutarch will choose who will lead us all.

Johanna hopes they choose soon.

Finnick hopes they choose wisely.

I hope they choose _right._

**.**

For the next few days, we watch Katniss Everdeen carefully. We watch Peeta Mellark, the male tribute for 12 closely, too.

Their interviews shock everybody. They are in love, the star-crossed lovers from 12. Tragic, how they are in love, yet both are thrown into the arena that almost nobody comes out of.

One of them must die.

Maybe they will both die.

Whatever happens in the future will happen. But right now, they leave an impression.

And that's all they need to win the Capitol over.

**.**

I am jumpy. I am scared.

Finnick holds me close at night and tells me everything will be okay.

_It's okay._

But everything is not okay.

I can only think about how, next year, Donnie's name will be in the Reapings. How, next year, it will be the third Quarter Quell, and I have no idea what the Capitol is planning to do. What horrors they are planning to inflict on us this time, how they are planning to watch our children die.

I can only think about how Donnie may die next year, and how I can't save her.

I think of the little girl from District 12 who should've been a tribute if it weren't for Katniss volunteering.

She looks a little like Donnie.

She's a year older, of course, but they look alike. They both have small frames and a delicate, innocent look to them.

The girl has golden hair. Donnie has dark blonde hair. The girl has bright blue eyes. Donnie has light blue eyes.

She is named after a flower. Donnie is as well.

Finnick said it himself, the Capitol is picking off my family. They have killed my parents, killed Enkol, and have tried to kill me. They tell me that her safety is guaranteed, but how reliable is the Capitol? How can I possibly trust them after what they made me do? For all I know, they could Reap Donnie, make her play in the Games, while I try and teach her how to survive. Then, they will make sure I watch her die as I sit helpless, and make me live with the guilt and loneliness for the rest of my life.

I can only imagine how it could so easily be Donnie next year, how it could be her name drawn from the papers.

I can only imagine her walking up to the podium as I sit behind the seat, trying to hold myself together. Trying to stop the visions of my sister dying in front of me, while I sit helpless, unable to advise her to live past her meager twelve years.

There will be no volunteers. There will be no one to save her, no one except me who is willing to sacrifice themselves for her. I cannot volunteer as tribute, cannot fight for her, cannot fight the battles for her. I can only try my best to be strong for her and teach her what little I know about surviving, while trying to prepare her - and myself - for her death.

She's so small, so fragile, so pure. How can she kill? Donnie cannot do it, and I cannot watch her even if she could. I can't watch my baby sister, who I have tried so hard to shield from the Capitol's horrors, participate in one of their sick forms of entertainment.

She could die next year. And I can only watch.

I can't.

**.**

Girl on fire.

That is what Haymitch calls her.

Katniss Everdeen is the Girl on Fire to him.

He is certain she will lead the rebellion. He is certain that she will do it.

"One problem," Johanna points out, "w_hat if she doesn't win_?"  
Johanna has a very good point. How often has District 12 won the Hunger Games?

Twice. That's the answer.

The other victor is long dead.

"She will. I know she will." Haymitch says defiantly. "She's fiery. She's skilled. She can win."

"What about Peeta?" I ask. Peeta, who is the kind of person who sees the good, who is what keeps the Girl on Fire going.

Haymitch pales slightly. Finnick squeezes my hand, as if sensing my worry.

Peeta was nice. He was kind and thoughtful, and yes, he reminds me of me when I was in the Hunger Games.

Couldn't hurt a fly. Couldn't kill. _Wouldn't _kill.

But the Hunger Games change people.

"They'll figure something out." Haymitch says, after a moment of deliberation, though his voice loses some of its confidence and certainty.

We all sit and watch in anxious silence.

I hope they do.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Yes, I do realize that the time span between this chapter and the last was three years. In all honesty, I would greatly enjoy writing more about the three years in between, but alas, my brain can`t think of anything interesting enough and I just don`t have the patience to right now - I sort of want to move on to the next big part of the story, which is Katniss`appearance.

So yeah, you can fill in the three years yourself. I am really, really sorry if this bugs you, not quite knowing what happened in that gap. Tell me what you think about this gap, or basically what you think about the chapter in general.

Hope you liked it, and please feel free to leave a review is you have any questions, comments, or feedback.

Next chapter up tomorrow!


	15. Questions & Answers

Hullo there!

GOOD NEWS - well, good depending on how you think of it - THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER OF THIS SUB-STORY!

I am really, really, extraordinarily happy for finishing this sub-story! Halfway done Anxol's journey!

If you guys don't remember my notice from my last sub-story (The Girl Who Set the Spark), there will be a total of four sub-stories regarding Anxol and Finnick, and this is the second one. The next story will be posted up tomorrow; more details will be provided at the end of this chapter.

Well, not to delay you guys any longer! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

I could say that I was happy for Peeta _and _Katniss for winning.

I could say that I cried when the little girl from 11 died.

I could say that Finnick held me every single night.

I could say that even Johanna was quiet as we watched.

I could say that Haymitch didn't drink once.

I could say a million things about the 74th Hunger Games. I could say it all, in a disturbingly detailed description. I could say every little detail, and express every single feeling.

But I am silent.

Donnie's name is in the draw this year.

**.**

Peeta and Katniss arrive at District 5 for their Victory Tour. Peeta is very easy to talk to, and we get along well. He is kind and funny and happy even though he has every reason in the world not to be.

Katniss, on the other hand, is quiet.

She is quiet and stoic and stiff. She does not want to be here. I can understand.

I wave goodbye to the two of them.

Peeta waves back. Katniss does not.

I am trying not to doubt Haymitch's judgement for the face of the rebellion.

Instead, I smile and pretend that my sister won't be chosen for this year's Hunger Games and that there's nothing I can do to stop it.

**.**

"Donnie!" I called. "Come, the Capitol's announcing!"

The Capitol was about to announce their plans for this year's Quarter Quell. The Reapings are tomorrow. The Victory Tour ended months ago.

I am numb. The Reapings are tomorrow. Tomorrow, my sister's name will be in the draw, and tomorrow, her name may be chosen.

Every twenty-five years, a new twist is added to the Hunger Games. The twist is obviously more entertaining for the Capitol, but gruesome for the Districts.

In the first Quarter Quell, the Districts had to vote up the tributes. The Districts chose the tribute.

In the second Quarter Quell, twice the amount of tributes were Reaped. Haymitch, surprisingly enough, won the second Quarter Quell, which is hard to believe when he is barely awake or sober half the time I see him.

Donnie shakily walks towards me, taking deep breaths, her mind whirring with comforting words that don't work. We were both nervous. Her hands find mine, and we hold hands tightly, her hands having a vise-like grip on mine.

We walk to the heart of District 5, where the large screen will show us what horrors they plan on throwing at us this year. Everyone is here, silent and stoic, eyes hard and staring at the screen. They make way for Donnie and I, and Donnie trembles, as if a part of her falling off with every step she took. I felt the same.

The screen flickers to life, the Capitol's color strange and outlandish in the bleak grey of District 5. We all stand close to each other, like a unit, as if we needed everybody in the District's support to hold us from falling apart. To keep ourselves together. To keep our District, our home intact after what they throw at us.

President Snow appears onscreen, wearing a humorless smile. I swear the air around us dropped a few degrees when he appeared; every citizen's gaze frosty and cold. Donnie is shaking so violently now that I am practically holding her. Snow opens a box and pulls out the envelope that has the plans for the third Quarter Quell.

Donnie is trembling as he opens the envelope, and I can feel her taking deep, hurried breaths. I am shaking violently, trying to compose myself, trying to compose myself for her. For District 5.

He begins to read the envelope.

"For this year's Hunger Games," Snow starts, "the tributes will be Reaped from the existing pool of victors."

My hands go limp. All of my senses go numb, the words still trying to process in my mind.

There is sobbing, but it sounds distant. I can somewhat feel Donnie's hand in mine, but it feels like it's transparent, like I'm holding air. I am highly aware of the eyes on me, though, like knives piercing through my skin.

All I can do is think.

_Third Quarter Quell…tributes…existing pool of victors…_

A loud wail snaps me out of my thoughts. It's Donnie.

She looks at me, her eyes red and cheeks splotchy. She doesn't say anything, just cries. Everybody is staring at us, staring at me, with the pity in their eyes that I haven't seen ever since I was Reaped to enter the Hunger Games.

The first time. And now, it's guaranteed I'm going back in, and out comes those looks I'd thought I'd forgotten.

Quickly, I wrap my arms around Donnie and try to soothe her, try to calm my racing heart, try to not to break down and cry - with relief or with terror.

My sister is saved. She will not be in this year's Hunger Games.

But I will.

**.**

It is solemn on the train. I cry, tears of bitter unfairness and relief. I feel a few teardrops fall into my head, and I know that Finnick is crying too.

He kisses me gently on the nose and wipes away my tears with his hands. I wipe away his tears, too, though my hands are shaking too much to even do the simple task.

"I have to go back in." Finnick says brokenly, staring at me, hurt in his eyes. "I have to."

I nod and take a shaky gulp of air. There is only one female victor from District 7 - Johanna. There is also only one female victor from District 5 - me. But there are multiple male victors from District 4.

There will be one male victor and one female victor for each tribute. In District 12, there is only one female victor.

Katniss Everdeen. The face of the rebellion.

She will go back into the arena.

Johanna and I are guaranteed a spot in this year's Quarter Quell.

Finnick, Johanna and I promised to protect her.

And we will, even if it means losing each other.

**.**

The day of the Reapings.

I will never like the Reapings. I never have.

I arrive home early, and I beginning setting up. I don't bother being quiet for Donnie, who was still sleeping. I don't have time to be quiet any more.

District 5's Reapings are not scheduled until the late afternoon. This gives me more time. Donnie treads down the stairs gloomily.

"What are you doing?" She asks me curiously, as I carry a box of food.

I set the box down.

"Listen, Donnie." I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I have to go back in the arena."

She reacts immediately.

"Don't you think I don't know?" She cries. "That you're leaving me again... that you leave every night, and this time you're leaving for sure, and this time you might not ever come back?"

"Donnie," I say, my voice cracking, "I'm sorry."

"Why is this happening? Why does Snow hate us so much?" She wails loudly. "Why is everything so unfair?"

Donnie crumbles down right on the floor, sobbing loudly, shoulders racking. Everyone she loves has left her. I'm the last thing she has left, and now I am almost certainly leaving her for sure. No one left for her. No one to love her. No twelve year old deserves to feel that.  
And Donnie, the best of us all, the one who understands and cares and feels something in this heartless world, does not deserve to crumble and fall with no one to catch her.

I move towards her and hug her tightly, hushing softly into her hair.

"I promise I'll protect you, Donnie. I promise I will." I hold her tightly, as if she'll break if I don't. She shakes and clings onto me like she'll never let go.  
"How can you, Annie?" She whispers, voice quiet but hysteric. "You're going to leave and you might die and you're going to kill and I can't watch that."

"I can't watch you kill. I can't watch you die." Donnie whimpers, almost indistinguishable with her head in my shirt.

"You'll be safe. You will. You'll be fine. I promise." I assure her, though my voice cracks thinking about Donnie's life, alone, without any one of us left to protect her.

"Can you promise me you'll come back?" She whispers, eyes red and hair messy. "That you'll be my big sissy forever?"

I say nothing. I can only hold her tight and try to stop the teardrops from falling and letting her know that I might not come back to her again.

**.**

We sit, curled up on my bed. We don't speak, only hold each other tight as if nothing could pry us from each other, though we know that we will have to separate in a few hour's time.

Tears run silently down Donnie's face, but she makes no move to brush them away. She only stays in my arms, curled up in them like she was five years old again.

I wrap my arms around her, shielding her though I know she has already seen much of the worse. I pet her hair gently and try to memorize every little thing about her.

I know that our brains are both buzzing with worries, fears, but most of all, questions. Questions about our future. Questions about my survival and Donnie's life. What-ifs and questions we already know the answer to. Questions that we wish we knew the answer to, just to put ourselves out of this waiting agony.

The answer will come. But it's not always the answer we want.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

As mentioned above, this is indeed the last chapter of the second sub-story. Again, there will be a total of four sub-stories.

The next story will be posted up tomorrow, and will be named 'Caged In'. (Sorry for the lame title, I am really terrible at making up titles.)

The next story will take place in the novel 'Catching Fire', so you should probably read that first. And just a fair warning, I'm really really terrible at following along with books (I can't randomly make up my own storyline) so I apologize in advance if the next sub-story kind of really sucks.

And MASSIVE, MASSIVE, MASSIVE thanks to EVERYONE who reviewed! Every single review literally makes my day and I actually squeal whenever I get a review. A bit sad, I know, but really - just thank you so much for leaving your input on the chapters. It really means a lot to me. THANK YOU!

Any questions? Comments? Feedback? Leave it as a review!

Any opinions on the next sub-story? Anything you'd like to see? Any ideas or suggestions for Anxol and Finnick? Leave it as a review and I'll take into consideration your requests!

Next sub-story up tomorrow!


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